Some Weird Sin
by Weird Fishes
Summary: Logan picks up a stray for the Professor and brings her back to the institute. Upcoming PyroOC and perhaps LoganOC. Please R&R. CHAP. 16 FIIIIINALLY UP!
1. The Way That I Found You

Author's Note: This is my first attempt at X-men fic, and the first time in a long while that I've written fic in general, so I'm hoping it's up to standards. The timeline is a bit undetermined, starting a bit after the first film's end, though it's doubtful that anything from the two later films will be relevant at this point. I'm a fan of the comics as well, so characters outside the film's portrayal are bound to come into play, though a bit later on. I've been writing this for myself and for the enjoyment of a few close friends, with any luck some of you will find it appealing as well. Thanks, I hope you all enjoy it. Reviews are much appreciated.

Disclaimers: I own nothing save my own character. All Marvel/FOX related goodness belongs to the aforementioned and I'm more than happy to keep it that way. Plzdon'tsueme,kthnx.

"_Link it to the world,  
Link it to yourself,  
Stretch it like it's a birth squeeze.  
And the love for what you hide,  
And the bitterness inside,  
Is growing like the new born.  
When you've seen, seen  
Too much, too young, young,  
Soulless is everywhere."_  
-Muse, 'Newborn'

Chapter 1- "The Way That I Found You."

There's a woman glaring at me across the smooth, polished wood of the bar and I know she disapproves of the cigarette I've balanced delicately between two fingers. Nosey bitch probably thinks I'm too young to be in a place like this anyway and, not that it's any of her business, I am. But no one else has come to question me or the glass of bourbon in my hand and thus I stay my ground, meeting her gaze evenly and sending a smoke ring in her direction for her troubles. Scowling, she leaves.

I'm not normally a moody bastard, but she's clearly caught me on an off day, inhaling half a pack of Camels and three shots of liquid fire before two in the afternoon. I should be in school right now, or just getting out at this rate, but there's no way in hell I'm going back there after what happened last week and I have high doubts that they'd be thrilled to see me walking back through their doors right now anyway. Maggie had been kind enough to inform me through a pay phone that the words _"Adrian Mills is a freak"_ had been spray painted to my locker and the way I saw it, they were pretty goddamn right. I mean, I may be strange, I may have been a bit of a late-bloomer, but no normal girl at age seventeen can cause literal tons of water to come flying down the hallway after some group of jackasses-

I've replayed that scene over in my head so many times I wouldn't be surprised if I knew it better than my own reflection. There's no need to embellish upon it now, or the massive hole in the wall of the gymnasium. Or the five kids in the hospital. Shit, I really am in trouble this time. I could have killed someone, a notion that's never really crossed my mind in any sincere sense until recently. It's terrifying, and I have no idea what to do.

There's a TV above the bar with CNN on close-caption and it's really all I can do to keep from cringing. It's taken me a few days to admit it to myself, that I'm not normal, that I'm a genetic freak, an anomaly within society and all these anti-mutant rallies they've been playing clips of are really starting to unnerve me. I never asked for this, this awful responsibility that's been thrust into my hands; I never wanted any of it. Not to say that normalcy has always come easily, but honestly, do you really need anything else to make you feel awkward at my age? Teenagers live and breathe insecurities, and mine causes tidal waves to chase after the swim team.

Taking a glance up at the television again I shake my head at the protests, motioning for the man at the bar to refill my glass. He obliges and I sigh, paying my tab for the afternoon. I need to keep on the move, lose myself in the city a bit more before I can become really complacent. It's been this way for a few days. I mean, really, who is stupid enough to stick around when the principal (and the fire and police departments respectively) call your parents and explain to them that their child demolished half the school? I saved them the trouble of chucking me curbside and fled. Pops was still on the phone by the time I was out the door, he probably didn't even hear it shut he was so astounded.

I need to stop thinking about that afternoon. Truth be told, I've blocked most of it from my immediate memory; right now I can't afford to dwell on it all. I've only got so many resources and there's nowhere to go. It's daunting, yet I prefer it to being sent away somewhere, to some institution where they'll try and "cure" me. Screw that, I can barely use the toilet without having the water over-react to everything. I light up another cigarette, grab my back-pack and head for the door. It's somewhat sunny out today, thank god, none of the rain that's been pouring down non-stop for the last two days. Were I at home my mother would be making some stupid comment about the slight, natural highlights in my hair being enhanced by the potentially harmful UV rays shining down upon me, but there's no one here to prattle on at me now and I'm walking down the sidewalk with my hair, brown and rather plain looking insofar as I'm concerned, pulled back, trying to attract as little attention as possible. I though, of course, am no great example of stealth, nor am I fantastic for having held my drink, and when I see a cop car at the corner of the street ahead of me I back-peddle so fast I almost give myself whiplash. The police know about me, they know I've gone, who I am, what I look like, and most importantly, what I am, something I haven't even really been able to come to terms with yet. This said, there's no way in hell I'm stumbling up to them, obviously in some sort of inebriated state, advertising myself as a drunken mutant runaway. I duck into a nearby alleyway and hope to god no one comes looking.

"Adrian Mills, your heart is beating so goddamn loud you couldn't hear a dump truck if it parked next to you," I mutter to myself, irritated. I'm on edge now. I know things about this city, the so called "City of Angels", what happens when you're not careful, and I don't want to be one of those people that falls through the cracks and disappears. Those are the kids sold into the sex trade, the poor bastards who get mugged and left in a dumpster, the homeless drug addict and the common criminal. I'd always thought I'd at least get past high school for fuck's sake, and now it looks as though I've only these stomach-turning options for my glorious future. It literally makes me queasy, though that's bound to be the product of half a bottle of hard liquor on an empty stomach and, setting my backpack next to me, I lean over an open trashcan and proceed to vomit for all I'm worth. Wiping my mouth on the back of my hand I stagger to the side a bit, trying to regain my sense of balance, the nausea having temporarily subsided. I know I must look like a total mess, some stupid, inexperienced, scared kid, and it makes me want to cry with frustration.

"Hey, are you all right?" There's a voice behind me. Someone's addressing me, the puking wonder. I grab my backpack, hoist it onto my shoulders unsteadily and turn to face them, only to feel whatever false confidence I had plummet down into my feet, replaced by something far more tangible.

Fear.

There's a man standing less than ten feet away from me and I'd be stupid not to feel the dangerous, scary vibe rolling off of him. He's not terribly tall, only about six feet in height, but he's eyeing me like I'm dinner and it's the most wholly unsettling thing I've ever experienced in my life. I must look like I'm full of shit when I assume what I suppose is a healthy, normal stance, shrugging off-handedly as I tell him that, yes, I'm fine, I'm just taking a short cut.

He leers, dark eyes seeming to grow even more so as he begins to advance towards me. "This is a dead end, dollface."

Mere words fail to describe just how fast I turn about and tear down the alley, away from him. I know it's a fools' chance, perhaps the end will be made of chain-link fence and then I can just climb up it, but if it's brick I know I'm fucked. He's got more mass to him, he's taller and I can almost hear him breathing right behind me. Turning the corner I curse loudly, panic seizing whatever rationality I have left in my possession. Now I'm up against a brick wall and J. Doe Psycho-Rapist is laughing as he stalks into view. _This isn't happening, this isn't happening, this isn't happening- _

Something drips onto my head from above and I look up to catch view of a leaky pipe. "Please, oh please god-"

I'm shaking and he's putting his hands around my throat. "Let's make those pretty blue eyes nice and watery for daddy." He doesn't even have to ask, there are tears rolling down my cheeks and all control I've had over myself has long-since gone. Tears are soaking my face, my jacket, as he presses me up against the wall, and it takes me a moment to notice the change of his expression, eyes now cast heavenward in shock. "What the-"

A large jet of water shoots down, blasting him away from me and into the side of a building. He crumples to the ground like a rag doll, a rather large dent obvious where he had hit. As the water continues to pound down into the wall I stand there gaping at his body for a moment before I run back up the way I'd come and out of the godforsaken alley. I don't know if he's dead or not, but I'll be damned if I stick around to find out. That much water is bound to get someone's attention soon enough and I'm not going to be anywhere nearby when it does. A freak like me the cause of all that damage is something I don't think the authorities would take to kindly to. I don't even want to know how much I owe for the school gym. I'm not sure where I'm running to, only that the soles of my shoes are slamming down on the concrete and taking me away from the creep in the alley and out of the line of blame.

Looking back over my shoulder after a few minutes of hell-bent running I'm comforted slightly by the knowledge that no one has followed me, easing my ever-increasing paranoia. I can barely think for the fear that grips me, and this much is evident when I run head-on into what felt like another mass of stone. Falling flat on my ass I shake my head to clear it, confused as to why on earth the side of an apartment complex is wearing a pair of worn black leather boots and blue jeans. Holding my aching skull with one hand, I attempt to push myself up with the other, ready to bolt at a moments notice should this individual prove to be as unsavory as the last. "Sorry, I didn't see you, I'm in a big hurry, some guy cornered me in an alleyway, I think I might have killed him-"

I must have smacked myself silly on this guy because I can't even stop the flow of words from bubbling out of my mouth as I finally manage to stand, probably looking every bit as insane as I felt.

The man before me narrowed his eyes, looking me over. He wore an old, brown leather jacket atop a few other layers of shirts, a denim jacket, soundly pulling off the classic rugged, manly look. And my god did he have the body for it. It wasn't something one saw often in the city and I took notice. His hair was a controlled mess unlike anything I'd ever witnessed, wildly shaped, sloping down into mutton chops I'd not seen the likes of since I'd last gone through my history text book (well over two weeks ago, I assure you). But it was his eyes that really got my attention, the narrowed bits of hazel that bore down on me with a startling frankness that snapped me out of my terror and back into present reality. The one where I had currently admitted to the assault, and possible murder, of a man some six blocks behind me. And to think I'd previously fancied myself smart.

He raised an eyebrow, as if to enquire how any of this was his problem. I didn't know what it had to do with him either, but I was so over the top at that point I couldn't stop talking if I'd wanted to. Which I did, rather desperately in fact.

"I need help." This was whispered as I tried to steel myself into appearing less than crazed. "There's something… something's wrong with me."

He rolled his eyes. "Kid, do I look like help to you?" The sad thing was that, at this rate, he did. Maybe it was the fact that he had the physique of a well-seasoned brawler or it was just that look of sheer, guarded indifference towards the world, but something about him just screamed "safe" and I wanted in.

"Please, I'm begging you, I just-" he stepped around me and walked towards the corner. "Please, sir!"

At this point he'd made it around the corner and had passed from my sight. Frantic for some sort of aid, I ran over to it only to find that he'd vanished, my Knight in Denim Armor, gone forever. It wasn't until I felt the hand clamp down on my shoulder, spinning me about, that I realized just how truly screwed I was.

"Hello dollface."

This just really isn't my week.

Before I could even scream at the bloodied horror that was standing before me he wrapped an arm around my face, hand over my mouth, and dragged me kicking and flailing off the sidewalk and into a nearby passage. Somewhere in my haze of panic I wondered how the hell he'd found me, how he was even able to walk after the hit he'd taken, yet it was all moot now as he threw me to the ground, wrenching the backpack off and tossing it aside. You always think about all the things you'd do if you were being tracked down by some murderous freak, all the stuff you'd do to vanquish said opponent and come out victorious, but that means fuck all when you can barely throw a punch and you're scrambling to get up and regain your senses after your skull has bounced off the pavement a few times. I barely have time to roll into a ball on the concrete before he starts kicking me in the ribs.

"Come on you slut, look at what you did to me! You thought you could get away after that, huh? Get up! Get the fuck up!" The last four words were punctuated by a set of particularly brutal kicks and I practically bit through my lip to keep from wailing. I raise myself to my knees and he grabs me by the hair, dragging me up the rest of the way. "Daddy's gonna make you real sorry, Daddy's gonna make you _bleed." _

There's no mistaking the glint of the switchblade in his hand, nor the force by which my jacket is yanked from my near-hysterical form. "Please don't hurt me, I'm sorry. Please let me go." I thought I was such tough shit, going out to rough it in the big city. Well, this is what happens to stupid kids who run away; we get fucked up. Sliced, diced, mauled, abused, raped, killed, the works. I'm already starting to picture my legacy like it's an episode of Law & Order, for god's sake. Yet right as he fastens his hand around my wrist, the grip harsh and vice-like, he stops, looking at something over my shoulder.

"Not a good idea, bub." The low growl gets my attention and I snap my head around to face the intruder. Please believe me when I say that I almost started crying (yet again) when my eyes met the fierce expression of my very own Knight in Denim Armor.

Where my attacker was obviously dangerous in an uncontrolled, psychotic sense, the other man virtually radiated this aura of badass, teenage as it sounds. He could have been standing next to Hulk Hogan and he'd still look ready to do some damage. J.D. Psycho-Rapist must have noticed, because his hold on my wrist lessened slightly. "This isn't any of your business, pal," he intoned hostilely, trying to scare the smaller man off. To say that he failed would be the understatement of the century; my Knight began to approach.

Noting that I was his only shield between himself and my potential savior, my assailant pulled me up against him, holding the blade to my throat. "Come any closer and I'll slice her throat, asshole. She's mine." His grip shifted, an arm snaking round my waist, much to my revulsion. "Of course, if you want to wait until we're done, you're more than welcome to have a turn. She's a sweet, tender young thing."

I was half expecting him to lick my face after the offer, and I managed to voice my apparent disgust. "Fuck you, you sick piece of shit!" Nothing Emmy-award-winning, I know, but under my current circumstances I was hard-pressed to think of anything else. The knife was pushed more menacingly against my throat for my efforts and I ceased my vocalizations. What really scared me was that this guy probably didn't even need me alive to fulfill all his twisted fantasies.

My Knight pauses for a moment, possibly noting the same thing, and I look to my feet, wondering if I'll even be alive to see him pummel the man behind me. It's then that I realize the drainage grate below us and feel the glimmer of something come to life in my mind. Water. I can hear it moving, flowing underground, powerful swells from all the recent rainfall. Crossing the fingers on my left hand, I hope to god this will work and give Mutton Chops a wink.

I can see his eyes narrow slightly and, remarkably enough, he sniffs the air like some sort of animal, and I have to wonder what it is he gets a whiff of. For his sake I hope it isn't the collective bunch of trashcans to my right, because they're rank like nothing I've ever experienced before. They probably smell like I will after this bastard takes me home and chops me up, but I can't be fucked to give him the opportunity to get that far. We're at a standstill here, three people caught in some sad modern parody of an old John Wayne movie before I feel the surface we're standing upon start to move.

In his complete surprise my soon-to-be murderer drops his blade, wondering how on earth water is traveling against gravity, up his legs. With a yelp he leaps backward and I try to wrench free of his grip, struggling desperately to-

"Sweet suffering fuck," I breath, momentarily unable to describe just what I see barreling towards me. It's all over in a matter of seconds, but forever will I recall the look of sheer ferocity that contorted his features. It was frighteningly animalistic, intense in that brutal, determined nature and I barely had time to move before he'd knocked the man backward with a jaw-shattering blow. I say this only because I actually heard the crunch and snap of bone as John Doe Psycho-Rapist flew into the aforementioned rancid trashcans and I was left standing in wide-eyed awe at the man less than three inches in front of me.

"You all right, kid?" He looks me over quickly, the gruff tone of his voice calling me to attention. I'm beyond words at this point though, so I do the only thing I can at the moment, drained as I am; I blink and barely manage to turn before I throw up onto the asphalt. Fantastic. Because the big, tough man really wants to see just how useless I am in my post-drunken state. Steeling myself, I drag the back of my hand across my mouth and turn back to face him.

"Yeah, I'm uh… do you have any gum?" I finish lamely, silently cursing whatever possessed me to intone such base and trivial desires at a moment like this. I have no idea what to say or do, a simple "thank you" seeming too unappreciative for the fate he just saved me from having to endure. He raises an eyebrow and, unthinking, I mimic the gesture. I feel awkward now, obscenely so, and the adrenaline I've had running through my system these last few days has only slowed it's pace a bit. He takes a step back and I watch him run a hand through his wiry hair, which does absolutely nothing to fix its unmanageable state, trying to decide upon a course of action.

"I'll take that as a 'no'," I mumble quietly, eyes going to my backpack lying discarded to my right. Unsteadily I go over and kneel beside it, rummaging through the outside pockets until I find my nearly flattened pack of Camels. I can feel his eyes on my back and I tense as I mutter a curse, prying open the lid and taking out a cigarette. Standing and feeling around my pockets for a lighter, I turn, pulling out the item, bringing it to the end of my cigarette. We regard one another over the flame momentarily before he seems to make a decision.

"Grab your bag, we're leaving." He turns to walk back to the opposite direction of the alley when I start coughing, choking on my own exhale in surprise. "Excuse me?"

"You're not safe out here, kid. You've got nowhere to go and you sure as hell don't know anything about living on the street," he's facing me now, giving me a hard look. There's a hint of exasperation in his tone but it does nothing to quell my now heightened sense of distrust. My Knight in Denim Armor he may be, but I know absolutely nothing about him, save that he packs quite a punch, and I'll be damned if I just disappear into the night with some strange, surly man I met on the street less than an hour ago.

Appearing to sense my unease he sighs, irritation dimming as he walks back towards me. I frown but manage to hold my ground, taking a long drag and blowing out the smoke slowly, sizing him up. His former disinterest in the street had obviously shifted and I've yet to find out if that's anything truly beneficial. He stands in front of me, making no move to touch me, something I'm vaguely grateful for in my current state. "Look, kid, I'm not going to hurt you, but I'd rather get out of here before someone walks by and finds that son of a bitch, 'cause it's going to mean a whole lot of trouble. You get what I'm saying?"

Oh, that part was easy enough to grasp. Swarming spectators, police men, handcuffs, large font bolded in newspaper headlines; the scenes moved vividly through my mind as I nodded my head, dropping the butt of my cigarette onto the pavement and crushing it out with my foot. I looked up and held his gaze. "You know what I am, how do I know you're not going to turn me in? Sell me off?"

He was unfazed by the frankness of my question and I was inwardly pleased, much to my surprise. "I don't sell out my own kind."

With that he turned and made his way back out the alley and, grabbing my backpack and jacket, I ran after him. "Wait!"

I could almost see the roll of his eyes as he turned around, impatience becoming apparent. "Come on kid, we don't have time."

I stumble to a halt next to him, looking to all the world like the klutz I am. At this point I could give a fuck less, I've just met another mutant, another one of my kind. Not to get all teenage and emotional about it, but for the first time in what feels like a long, long while someone else actually understands me. I'm not alone. I must look like I'd gotten out of doing final exams the rest of my life when I blurt, "You- you're one too?"

"For Christ's sake, kid, didn't I just say that? Now keep a lid on it and lets get out of here." He's walking forward at what appears to be breakneck speed for someone as worn out as I am, but the adrenaline has just gotten a boost from an undercurrent of something that feels vaguely like hope and I'm practically fucking skipping next to him. This is an uncharacteristic sort of sensation, and the back of my mind is wary of what is yet to come. It's not often I keep the company of random, strange men with questionable grooming tastes but I'm not about to turn any of this down. I've got nowhere to go and nothing better to do with myself. After all, he did save me from the hopefully extinct John Doe Psycho-Rapist, and if that doesn't give me the beginnings of a burgeoning hero-worship, I don't know what will.

It takes me a few moments to reign myself in and keep up a normal gait, strolling along innocuously past the other people on the street. It's all I can do to keep from smirking when I note that none of them have a Knight in Denim Armor to protect them. "You don't have to keep calling me 'kid', you know," I supply as we wait by a crosswalk. "I have a name."

He grunts. "Everyone younger than me is 'kid' as far as I'm concerned."

I raise an eyebrow at him, looking him over. "Oh really? And how old are you?" My parents looked older for fuck's sake, and noting that it's doubtful I'll ever be seeing them again it's probably best that I keep those thoughts as far away from my conscious mind as humanly- mutantly- possible.

"Old enough," he mutters, crossing the street, hardly waiting for me to catch up with him. It obvious now that I've asked too many questions and I quiet, focusing instead on keeping up with his pace and trying desperately to ignore the aches and pains scattered ruthlessly about my body. I don't even want to know what I look like right now. It doesn't take much imagination noting some of the glances from random passers-by, pity and displeasure intermingled in a single, brief once-over. I stare down a man in a business suit as he walks past, daring him to comment. I hear a snort to my left and turn my attention to my newfound companion. "What? Until I have a billboard plastered above me reading something like, 'World's Largest Potato, 20 miles!', I'd rather people didn't gape at me like I'm a fucking roadside attraction."

"Kid, you look like about 20 different kinds of fucked up right now, I wouldn't expect any better."

We turn a corner and head into a parking structure. "Mills, damnit. My name is Adrian Mills," I grumble. After all I've been through today something as simple as that monosyllabic word almost feels like a curse to me, and I'm getting pretty fucking sick of it, regardless of whom it's coming from.

"All right then, Mills," he remedies, though I'd be an idiot to assume that he really cared at the moment. We halt and it takes me a moment to realize that we've arrived at his car. Truck, rather. And that's being generous. I'm almost expecting the thing to be wound round with duct tape seeing the shape that it's in. I hesitate by the passenger's door, fingers just barely touching the metal. I wasn't really sure what was supposed to happen now, though it occurred to me that merely assuming that I was going to be walking him to his car as a means of saying 'thank you' was probably one of the stupidest things I'd thought all day, right up there with the bourbon on an empty stomach mid-afternoon. I leap backward as the door flies open, barely missing me. "Are you getting in or what?"

I shake my head, clearing it as I step up and into the cab, depositing my backpack on the floor next to my feet and shutting the door as gently as possible. Neither of us say a thing as he starts the engine up and drives down the ramp and out into the street. I click my seatbelt into place and it's now that I realize that, whatever this is, wherever we're going and to whatever end, I'm in this for the long hall. I turn my head slightly to look at him again, my eyes resting on those ridiculous mutton-chops without fail before I steel my gaze forward, watching all the familiarity fly by me until it's gone.  
-----


	2. The Passenger

Author's Notes: This chapter isn't quite as lengthy as the last, so hopefully it'll go down a bit smoother. I'm having a lot of fun writing Adrian, and Logan's just fucking amazing. Review and let me know what you think! Any feedback is much appreciated. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own nothing save Adrian. The rest of it belongs to Marvel and 20th Century FOX.

"_Oh, the passenger  
He rides and he rides.  
He sees things from under glass,  
He looks through his window's eye.  
He sees the things he knows are his,  
He sees the bright and hollow sky.  
He sees the city asleep at night,  
He sees the stars are out tonight.  
And all of it is yours and mine,  
And all of it is yours and mine,  
So let's ride and ride and ride and ride..."_  
-Iggy Pop, 'The Passenger'

Chapter 2- The Passenger.

Somewhere along the way I fell asleep. Not just asleep, it must have been a fucking coma, it was so dark and deep. It was like I'd burst through the surface when I awoke to a light shove on my shoulder and the words, "Get up kid, dinner."

Blearily I unfold myself out of the passenger's seat, the mere aches and pains of before transforming into full-on hurts. There's no mirror nearby as we stride towards the dingy looking diner at the rest stop, but I can imagine just how ugly and bruised my neck must look and I pull my jacket-collar up despite myself. I squint my eyes at the florescent lights above and grimace as we enter the dining area. Chops and I must look like quite a pair, because the hostess at the register gives us one of those looks and motions to a booth at the far side of the restaurant. She doesn't get so much as a grunt in reply as we make our way over. There's a small neon sign pointing in the direction of the restrooms and I mumble to excuse myself, heading through the door and into their sad justification of a ladies room.

After relieving myself I made my way over to the lone sink, washing my hands and splashing water onto my face. Fucking a, I looked like I'd had the shit beat out of me, there's no mistaking marks like these. My throat was an ugly masquerade of a scarf, bluish purple marks encircling it, a pattern beyond visible to the human eye. Awake and scowling, I wiped my hands and face with a paper towel and walked out, trying my best not to stalk and be personable, even if my ribs did feel as though they'd been broken in with a sledge-hammer. I sit to find a glass of ice water and a menu on the table before me, my Knight in Denim Armor catches the eye of a passing waitress and she stops to take our order. I glance upward and see "Gladys", an elderly woman wearing what has to be the most horrific clown make-up I've ever seen. I almost want to ask her if Halloween decided to come a bit early this year, but the Knight speaks up and orders a steak, rare, before I can stick my foot in my mouth. I order a cheeseburger medium-well and give her a smile. She sniffs at me and leaves.

"What the- whatever, at least I don't look like Bozo the fucking clown," I mutter, draining half the water in my glass. "Where are we, anyway?"

"We're about two hundred miles east of the city," he answers. That means fuck all to me, but he fails to clarify it any further and I let it drop.

"I guess I was asleep for a while, er, sorry about that," I attempt, knowing it's a lost cause. My savior is a crotchety hermit who merely shrugs as if he could give a shit less, which is undoubtedly the truth. I'm beginning to wonder just why he took me on in the first place when Gladys and her saggy tits come back with dinner.

While I swallowed my meal whole, like some sort of typical teenage cobra, the Knight dug into his food with a sort of controlled ferocity. Then again, it was rare enough to have actually begun crawling off his plate, so perhaps he was merely trying to instill his superiority over it in the animal kingdom. I studied him for a while, elbows on the edge of the table, fingers resting lightly on the bridge of my nose. It was interesting, oddly enough, observing the eating habits of another as a means of a sort of first impression additive. I found myself wondering what his mutation was, though at this point I was ready to assume it was his hair and be done with it. I'd had more fun talking to guppies in the pet store, and they didn't get grouchy. "Is there a name that I can call you by or something? Because, I mean, not to sound like an ungrateful miscreant or anything, but this is getting awkward."

He finished chewing his bite of steak and took a sip of water. "Name's Logan."

I followed suit, trying to compose myself a bit. I need a cigarette right now. Badly. "It's a nice name. I know, or rather knew, someone with that name once." I get another noncommittal "hm" as he returns to setting his proof of besting the entire bovine species. Now is the part where I consider dropping to my knees and thanking the deities above that I brought that busted old personal CD player with me after all, noting the incredible conversationalist Logan is.

Logan. I'm letting it roll off the proverbial mental tongue so that I won't seem like a total freak about it, as opposed to my vocalizing it. It rather suits him, I think. He's too interesting to be classified with something generic like John or Henry, yet most certainly not so exotic as to be anything foreign. The idea of him suddenly being called Tsuichi might have normally gotten at least a chuckle out of me, but laughing is a giant pain in the ass when it hurts to even breath. Instead I settle for glaring at a group of rather sorry looking truckers as they pass by, loudly boasting to one another about something or other. Humanity as a whole, in a place like this, is beyond disappointing. And then my menacing look is blocked out by the pattern of Gladys' godawful apron and I'm forcing myself to stay in my seat instead of leaping out of it in horror and running as I'm wont. Call me petty, call me teenage and immature, but her makeup was enough to make any sane person edgy. I looked to Logan and saw something like amusement sparkling in those hazel eyes of his before he took our check.

I fumble around in my pockets for my wallet and pull out a ten, holding it out to him. He shakes his head, paying. "Don't worry about it kid."

We leave the booth and head back out into the parking lot, walking at an easy, post-dinner sort of gait. It's sort of comfortable, or it would be, were it not for all the questions buzzing through my head. Any more thinking on my part and I'll have a veritable beehive up there, and I hate bees. Passionately. "Logan?" I ask as we climb back into the truck. "Where are we going?"

"New York," he responds, keeping his eyes focused on the road ahead of us.

Having been bent over, rooting through my backpack, I snap up so quickly I hit my head on the glove-compartment and swear. "Motherfucking- wait, where in New York?"

"Westchester."

Rubbing the back of my head, ruefully noting it as another bit I'll have that'll be sore for the next week or so, I look at him. "Why Westchester? That's across the country." I try not to let the note of worry permeate my voice. As much as I appreciate his stern kindness, I'm still cautious and, in all honesty, the recent lack of stability in my life scares the living shit out of me.

"There's a school there, for people like us. Its run by Professor Charles Xavier, teaches mutants how to control their powers, learn to accept who they are."

I raise an eyebrow. "It sounds like a fucking 12 step self-help program." I'm intrigued, though, and somewhat baffled at the idea of such an institution existing. That obnoxious little surge of hope starts up again and I begin fidgeting with the strap of my backpack.

He gives me a sidelong glance. "Look kid, Mills, whatever. I know it's going to take you a little while to trust me. But I'm not gonna hurt you, and I'm not going to strand you or send you off to a lab, all right? Chuck, he's got a pretty nice gig going, it'll suit you really well, get you through school and stuff until you can figure out what you want to do with yourself. No strings attached."

I'm considering this, turning it over in my head and examining it. "I'm not sure, I mean, it sounds like a dream come true considering what you just pulled me out of, but charity makes me uneasy. I feel badly enough right now with you, not that I don't appreciate it all the same," I add quickly before he can interject, "I just wish there were something I could do to repay you. You really helped me out, Logan, you saved my life. I don't even want to think about what that guy would have done if you hadn't been there, and I owe you for it."

He shakes his head. "You don't owe me anything, Chuck sent me out to your area after he heard about what happened while you were at school to come and get you. You left before I could get there, though, so I spent some time tracking you down in the city. You did a good job giving a chase, I've gotta hand it to you. It's not easy running from me."

A giant "What the fuck?" appears at the front and center of my brain as I try and sort out all this new information. "How… how did he know where I was? And how the fuck did you find me in Los Angeles? People fucking drop off the face of the earth there." I'm unsettled by this, knowing that I was hunted down. "And I was hiding from the LAPD, thank you very much."

He snorts. "Well, a girl blowing a hole in the wall of her school's gymnasium usually makes a pretty interesting headline in print, one that's rather hard to miss, especially for someone like the professor."

Sheepishly I glance out the passenger window. "I didn't mean to. I just- I couldn't help it, they made me so angry. I had no idea that would happen-"

"You don't have to explain yourself, it's all right. I understand."

Part of me goes instantly on the defensive. Obviously he's sick of hearing me talk, rambling on about my issues and my own petty problems. But I snap myself out of it pretty quickly, considering quietly to myself for a few minutes. If anyone were to commiserate with me, it would be him, the only other mutant I've ever met, the only person in any way like myself.

I change the subject, putting him in the spotlight. "So, what's your mutation?" I'd call it a "power", but that just sounds too D&D for this car ride and I don't want to tarnish the conversation.

"I have a rapid healing rate. My body repairs itself almost instantaneously, depending on the damage. I've also got heightened senses, sight, smell, sound."

"You're an invincible human bloodhound?"

I see a half grin appear on his face at my comment and my tensions ease immediately. "Yeah, sort of. I've never heard it put quite that way before."

I shrug disarmingly. After the previous subject of talk, this light-hearted change is a welcome one. "Well, it's not everyday you get stuck with some teenage smartass in a truck going cross-country, is it? Assuming, I mean. You seem like more of the lone ranger type to me."

He raises an eyebrow and regards me for a second. "Do I look like Clint Eastwood to you, kid?"

Now it's my turn to snort. "With all that scruff, why the hell not. You both need a good shave."

"You got a problem with my hair?"

I look out the window, trying to divert his gaze. "Not really, I mean… well, you don't really see that look a lot in the city, you know? You look like some wild ruffian lumberjack."

"Somehow it always comes back to being Canadian," he mutters, taking a cigar out and lighting it. I crack the window.

"You're Canadian? My apologies, I'll stop the moose jokes before they begin, then." This is the Adrian Mills I used to be, the bantering, snarky wit. It feels good to have it back, even though I get the sense that he wants to bat me over the head with a hand like I'm some ungrateful cub. I take the opportunity to take out a cigarette and light it, rolling the window down a bit more and taking in the desert air.

My cigarette is nearly half gone when he speaks again. "You shouldn't smoke you know. Bad for your health."

His speech is impaired slightly by the cigar he's got his teeth chomped around and I stare back at him incredulously. "Says the lumberjack with the stogie."

"Hey, I've got a healing factor," he interjects, blowing out a stream of smoke as we barrel down the highway.

"Excuses, excuses." I'm sort of taken by his change in demeanor, noting the slow, steady drop of his guard. I take another drag off my Camel and crush it into the ashtray. We fall into a comfortable silence. I roll the window back up and lean my head against it, silently bemoaning the ache in my ribs. It's only a few moments before I'm asleep again and it seems like only five minutes have passed when I awaken. We're in the parking lot of a Motel 6 and I grimace, pulling myself up. "Whatimeiseh?"

"Almost one in the morning. C'mon, we'll stay here tonight," he says from the asphalt outside, opening the door and helping me out. I'm visibly stiff as I haul my bag out and follow him into the small motel room.

He shuts the door and bolts it, indicating to the two twin beds on either side of the room. "Get some sleep. We'll leave later on in the morning and make our way through the rest of the desert and into the mid-west."

"You know anywhere I can pick up some bandages? That guy broke almost half my ribs," I grumble tiredly, not completely sure just how badly I'm exaggerating. Gently, I lower myself onto the bed nearest the bathroom, taking off my jacket and throwing it onto a nearby chair.

"We'll go to a pharmacy tomorrow and get some stuff," he tells me as I push my backpack off the bed and manage to toe my shoes onto the carpet. I never realized that it was possible for someone to be this physically and emotionally drained. The weariness seemed to be coming off me in waves, the sheer impossibility and insanity of my day hitting me square in the chest, broken ribs included.

"Hey, Logan?" I murmur, barely registering the fact that I've lain myself down upon all my blankets without so much as changing.

"Yeah, kid?" He grunts from across the room, though my eyes refuse to open and see him.

I manage to give a small, tired smile. "Thanks for saving me. You and your mutton chops really helped me out."

At this point I could be hallucinating, something I wouldn't put past myself at this stage, but I swear I hear him chuckle softly. "No problem, kid. Mills."

Part of me is still questioning how this could possibly be my present reality, but at this point I realize that, should this be a mere figment of my imagination, I would be sorely disappointed. This is the first time in days that I've felt secure enough to do more than doze anxiously for a few hours and I'll be damned if I don't take advantage of it. There's a soft click I hear rather than see as all the lights go out in my head seconds later.

-----


	3. The Chauffeur

Author's Notes: My playlist apparently had a GIANT happy spot for the Strokes when I wrote this chapter, so naturally I chose to include it. A bit more character development for Adrian and Logan ahead, a little more depth in their relationship; awkward situations abound! I'd appreciate any feedback, so thanks to those of you who review. I hope you enjoy this next installment, thanks for reading!

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Marvel/FOX save Adrian. I'm not making anything off of this, please don't sue me, etc., etc.

"_Out on the tar plains, the glides are moving  
All looking for a new place to drive.  
You sit beside me so newly charming  
Sweating dewdrops glisten, freshen your side."_  
-Duran Duran, 'The Chauffeur'

Chapter 3- 'The Chauffeur.'

There's a flash of light and I open my eyes, bleary and incoherent. The clock on the nightstand claims its half past eight, but that means fuck all to me and I bury my head beneath the pillows. This is my chosen form of peaceful protest.

"Get up kid, we've got a long drive ahead of us and I'd like to eat while it's still morning," I hear a gruff voice tell me from the foot of my bed.

Pulling my head out of the pillows like some human ostrich I scowl tiredly. "Fine, fine. I'm up, my eyes are open." I flop back down and promptly begin to doze again.

"Mills, get up and get a shower." Somewhere I register that I'm being addressed directly, and that there's a possibility of exasperation in the tone, but I'm too tired to be bothered. All those days without a bed and some level of security have taken their toll; this guy is a chump if he thinks I'm moving that easily.

"Fine, have it your way." The world tumbles out from under me and I land on my shoes, sputtering.

"Wha- what the fuck was that for!" I sputter indignantly, pulling myself up straight to stand on my feet, albeit somewhat painfully. The mattress is disheveled and my blankets are all over the floor as I scowl darkly at him.

"You're wasting time, get in the shower." I don't even have to look him over to note that he's probably been ready to go for well over a half an hour. It's the ordering tone, though, that really irks me, and without another word I've hauled my backpack up and stalked into the bathroom, shutting the door loudly.

I've never been a morning person, something that most folk worldwide can agree with when they're in my age-range, so it's pretty simple to imagine my genuine disdain for consciousness caused by a pair of tight jeans and a leather jacket. Grumbling, I stripped myself of my clothing and turned on the water, listening to the noise of the spray as I waited for it to heat up.

"Eight thirty in the goddamn morning, seriously, what on earth is wrong with him? This is fucking ridiculous." I stepped into the water and shivered at the cold, yelping. It warmed to a reasonable temperature a few moments later and I set about washing myself, singing quietly in the tiled cubicle.

"_Well I don't feel better when I'm fucking around,  
And I don't write better when I'm stuck in the ground."_

I squirted a bit of shampoo in my hair from the small, complimentary bottle I found on the tub and began to kneed the stuff into my scalp, rinsing away all the dirt and tension that had gathered over the last few days and swelling with the song.

"_So don't teach me a lesson 'cause I've already learned,  
Yeah the sun will be shining and my children will burn.  
Oh the heart beats in its cage."_

Looking down on my body I winced at the myriad of purple and black I saw decorating my torso. I looked like a botched Pollock piece, bruises evident against pale flesh. Carefully I washed the rest of my body, ginger motions amplified now that I was fully aware to what extent I'd taken my beating.

A few minutes later I stepped out of the shower, turning the water off with a flick of my wrist and toweled myself dry in the humid air. Searching my backpack I found my last pair of clean clothes, a worn blue tee shirt and a pair of jeans, assorted undergarments included. Putting them on and brushing my hair out, I felt refreshed. The mirror had fogged past the point of repair and I was grateful for it, not wanting to glimpse the handprints branded round my neck just yet. It was too early in the day for that sort of thing. I opened the door and stepped out into the room.

"It's about time kid," I hear the now familiar gruff tone from across the room. "There's bandages and Tylenol on the bed."

Blinking, I glance over at my rumpled bedspread and, sure enough, there sits a plastic bag, its contents awaiting me. Knowing better than to take the pills on an empty stomach, I pick up the box of bandages, a realization punching me straight in the face. "Er… Logan? How would one go about putting these on?"

He cocks a brow, possibly wondering just how useless I really am. "It's easy, Mills, you just wrap it around yourself and- oh."

It seems as though we've both reached the same awkward conclusion.

"Go team," I mutter, slouching awkwardly on my own bed, tossing him the box.

He sighs, visibly uncomfortable. "Well, come on kid, we ain't got all day. Let's get this over with."

"You're not the one who has to take their top off, jackass," I mutter, standing again with a wince. He lets the comment go and comes to stand before me. Letting the wet locks of hair fall in my face, a sad way to try to cover the burning in my cheeks, I heed reason and pull off the blue tee shirt, dropping it onto the bed.

He frowns, observing the damage. "Jesus kid, he really did a number on you."

Irritation and discomfort overriding niceties I snap at him. "Dually noted, Chops. Can we get this over with?"

There's a snort of something like laughter as he opens the box, taking out the roll of cloth. "Sure thing kid, you're welcome. Lift your arms up."

I know I'm being ungrateful, but my general embarrassment is superseding most of my rational thought and I find myself fighting the urge to kick him in the shin as he begins to wrap the bandage around my body. I suck in a hiss of air when he gets to a particularly tender area but manage to keep myself quiet otherwise, focusing on the red glow of the alarm clock. It's a little before ten in the morning and I'm standing half naked in a cheap motel with a man I've barely known for a day. Oh, if Maggie could see me now. The bindings are tight, but he's gentle in his ministrations and I mumble a barely audible "thank you" when he ties it off.

We're both silent as I pull my tee shirt back on and he moves off, now standing an acceptable distance from me as I do a quick scan to be sure I haven't left anything. Somewhere, glittering on the floor lies the remains of my shattered dignity, but I manage to reason with myself that it could have been worse. Stuffing the Tylenol into my backpack and grabbing my jacket, I nod to him and we exit the room, walking quickly out to the truck in the warming air.

When he unlocks the doors I step up and inside, recalling my actions yesterday and arranging myself comfortably. I know there's space behind my seat where I might be able to stow my things, but I feel more at ease having them close at hand incase I need some sort of distraction. "Breakfast?" I ask as we pull out and he nods, grunting. After five minutes we pull off the road at a diner near the end of town and climb out, heading inside. Forty minutes later and we're off once again, speeding down the highway and into the sun.

The first few hours trickle by slowly, silence weighing heavily in the hot desert air as we drive, the windows down in feeble attempts to give us some ventilation. Cursing the pair of dead AA's in my CD player silently, though no less vehemently, I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. "Hey, Logan?"

My unexpected call to his attention seems to have almost startled him. Our collective mood really hasn't wavered from its previously awkward, irritated plateau, so I suppose that even he's a little taken aback by this new inquiry. "Yeah?"

I fidget with the sleeves of my jacket, which lies balled in my lap commanding my attention as nothing else does when you've been driving through the worlds' largest litter box since the Sahara for over three hours. "Yesterday night you mentioned that Xavier guy sent you to find me in LA, yet I ran into you earlier on, before you realized I was a mutant. You didn't do anything." Unconsciously my hand clutches at the jacket, white-knuckled. I don't have to look over at him again to know that he's displeased.

"It's complicated, kid."

I raise an eyebrow at him, involuntarily mimicking that familiar facial stance. "So complicated I almost ended up with my face on a milk carton?" He gives me a warning glare, something that, I might add, is rather disconcerting to be at the receiving end of, but I can't stop myself. The heat and the pain of my body's present state has inflamed my aggravation past the point of any intelligent means, so I continue my inquisition. "Don't you have heightened senses? Why didn't you know it was me? He might not have caught me then, he wouldn't have-" I stop myself just as I hear a low growl.

"Look kid, your scent, there was something wrong with it," he's almost biting the words out and instantly I know I've said too much too callously. This man, in the short time I've known him, has done nothing more than care for me and all I've done to repay him is play out the part of some obnoxious little snot. "Rainwater," he finishes. "All I smelled was rainwater. I didn't realize it was you until it was too late."

My own mutation kicked me in the ass. Fan-fucking-tastic. Guilt rests cold and uncomfortable in my belly as I glance over at him again. There's another brief silence, punctuated by a soft. "I'm sorry, that was unfair."

There's still anger there, you'd be foolish not to sense it, but there's also this muted weariness that sort of emulates from him at the moment. It's so scarce you'd miss it if you blinked, but the very notion of its presence frightens me. "You have every right to be pissed for what he did to you, I can't say I wouldn't be feeling the same if I were in your shoes."

"But you're the one who saved me from him." I pause, feeling disgusted with myself. "I'm sorry, I guess I'm still sort of overwhelmed by all of this. I'm pretty fucked up from the last couple of days and this heat isn't making it any better. I didn't mean to be disrespectful."

I must look like a naughty puppy that had been whacked on its cute, fuzzy head with a rolled-up newspaper, because when I see him dart his eyes towards me again, his gaze softens and he sighs. "Don't worry about it kid. We'll be to New York in three or four more days and then you can readjust yourself."

A snort of something like laughter deflates out of me. "This car seat makes me want to readjust myself. Do you mind if we pull over at the next gas station? My ass is about to detach from my body and fling itself out the window; there's a spring that's got it in for me."

He gives me a look for my comment and nods. "Sure. We should hit one in about a half an hour."

I suppress the urge to groan and maintain the thin veneer of maturity for the time being. The truth is that I'm so fucking sick of sitting inside this truck I want to scream. It's only been a few hours and already I'm losing my mind, and Logan's utter lack of conversation isn't making this any more bearable. I find myself wishing I'd never mentioned my broken ribs, if only for the hope that the awkward mess that was this morning might have never happened. What's done is done, though, and I'm in far less physical anguish right now, so it's a fairly fleeting thought. I'll just keep quite while my mind does mental cartwheels of boredom.

It seems that even Logan has grown weary of the silence, though, and his hand goes to the radio, bringing it crackling to life as the static flows through its proverbial veins. His fingers, long and dexterous, turn the tuning knob in the hopes of finding something, anything to listen to. Country ballads, adult contemporary and talk radio all speed by until he twists the knob backward, listening intently.

"…_anti-mutant sentiments are on the rise in schools after a student lost control yesterday evening and accidentally electrocuted his coach during a rainy practice session yesterday in Chico, California. Following the water works of a Los Angeles county school student only a week previously, some parents are having their children pulled from schools as a safety measure. Julie Doherty from Simi Valley states-"_

Logan switches the radio off decisively but my mood has just been set from annoyed to irritated bordering on surly. I pull another cigarette out of my pack and light it, blowing out the smoke angrily. "Sweet suffering fuck, that's the biggest pile of shit I've ever heard. If the whole goddamn world wasn't on our asses about everything, if people actually gave a fuck enough to educate themselves and help us out, none of this would be happening. We're kids, for god's sake, we're their fucking sons and daughters! And now they're throwing us to the wolves and it's just so-"

I inhale again, long and deep, trying to steady myself and subdue my rage at the situation. I look out the window, closing my eyes. Bad things happen when I'm angry, when I lose control, and while I know we're barreling down a stretch of highway through the desert, I'm not about to risk it, not again. I was able to gain a hold on it when J.D. Psycho-Rapist attacked me in the alleyway, and again in that passage the other evening, but trust is something I find myself lacking in these days, especially concerning myself.

"You all right, kid?" Logan snaps me out of my red introspection and I nod, flicking ash out the window.

I feel like a bit of a jackass now for my previous outburst. "I'll be fine. Sorry about that, I just- well, you know how it feels." A lame finish, but he seems to understand and we drive onward in silence, finally reaching the rest stop after another twenty minutes.

I step down and out of the cab tentatively, wincing at the pins and needles in my legs. Stretching, I twist my neck to the side, hearing a satisfying crack and straightening. Logan and I make our way into the run-down gas station, he makes a b-line for the pay counter, intent on getting gas and I look for batteries, finding a four-pack of AA's to my relief. I'll be damned if I'm stuck in there without anything to do for another two or three days at the mercy of his tactless radio tuning. I pass by the meager liquor section and glance longingly at a bottle of cheap whiskey, eager for anything to dull the paranoid rush I've had creeping up my spine, take a little of the edge off of me. Looking out the long window at the wall of the station, I see Logan standing near the pump, waiting for the gas to finish and I head over to the cashier, an older gentleman in an attendant's uniform.

"A pack of Camel's as well, please?" I ask, taking out my wallet from the back pocket of my jeans and waiting for him to total it. He sets the pack down and I pay him with a polite, though quiet, "Thank you, sir."

"Have a good afternoon, ma'am," and I'm out the door, walking over to Logan, who is now waiting inside the truck, cigar stub in his mouth unlit. Opening the door, I step inside and buckle myself in, putting my purchases in my backpack. Every time I climb in here, there's always this almost damning note of finality to it, a reminder that there's no looking back, no turning around from hereon in. As he drives off my thoughts drift to my life before my Knight in Denim Armor came to rescue me, before I fucked up and blew it all. The childhood, my innocence stolen in a haze of red and water before I even knew what was happening.

Part of me wonders how they are, my classmates, the people I hurt, however unwittingly, and what would have happened had I stayed behind and faced the consequences, had I not been a coward. But it really isn't about cowardice anymore, and I know it. This, the two of us speeding on down the open highway, is about survival. Mine, obviously, as my ill-tempered companion looks fit to survive a blizzard on Everest if he set himself to it. Then again, he does have that lovely healing factor, a truly useful mutation. I chew my lip, wondering how on earth having the ability to haphazardly use my own mutation would by useful outside of a water theme park. My entire future, everything I ever thought I might be has been swept away and replaced with this daunting uncertainty, and while it's better than it was roaming the streets of Los Angeles, I'm still unnerved. Unthinkingly I begin to hum to myself, a quiet sound barely audible over the sound of the wind coming in through the open windows.

Despite having bought the batteries, I spend the next four hours singing softly into the air currents until we pull off at some random saloon for dinner, the sun sinking in the back of the review mirror a pretty mottle of rosy perfection. The parking lot is full to bursting, which bodes well for the food inside and we pull into a space, garnering a honk and a slew of curses from a man in a Ford pick-up. He speeds off, looking for another space. Logan appears satisfied and I chuckle softly as we go inside.

The place reeks of alcohol, smoke and cooked meat, all wafting into my nose and making my stomach grumble loudly, not that it could be heard above the din at the bar we head towards. I glance about, observing the place. It's small, poorly-lit and smoky, the few tables that there are all occupied by hard looking men and even a few women, though they're few and far between. I don't even need to see the bad perms to realize that I'm an anomaly here, the stares I'm getting are enough to tell me that much. Sitting up at the bar, we pour over a menu almost purely saturated in grease stains for a moment before the bartender gets to us. Somewhere I can hear Patsy Cline floating about the rafters as Logan orders his usual, blood-dripping steak and a beer.

"I'll have the same, though I'd rather it were actually cooked. And a-"

"Water," Logan finishes. The bartender goes off for a moment back to the kitchen and I glare to the man sitting at my left.

"I wasn't going to order an entire bottle of Scotch," I mutter. "Besides, I can pay for it."

He shakes his head slightly, lighting a cigar and pulling over an ashtray. "That's not the problem, kid. You're not even legal and I doubt your folks would appreciate you guzzling booze."

"Christ, are you a human D.A.R.E. program too? I had to learn it somewhere," I say darkly, pulling out my half-finished pack of cigarettes and lighting one. I don't really feel like arguing though, as I'm not wont to appear ungrateful, so I decide again for conversation. "Have you been here before?"

He grunts. "Once. Its good food with the occasional bar brawl."

"Charming," I take a pull off my cigarette as the bartender sets our drinks before us and goes over to some men wearing Stetsons. Leaning my cigarette against the ashtray, I excuse myself to use the restroom, locating the "Rstom" sign in neon and heading into the ladies' portion.

I'm unsurprised to note that it's positively filthy and, wrinkling my nose, I set about my business, trying my hardest not to touch anything. Leaving a stall, I turn the faucet on with my foot, doing my best to touch as little as possible while I let the water flow over my hands. I'm completely nonplussed when I notice the soap dispenser is empty. Wiping my hands on my jeans, I exit, almost running into a man in a stained wife-beater and a trucker hat. He reeks of cheap beer and I skirt around him quickly, making my way through the people and back to my chair beside Logan with my heart pounding. There's too many unfamiliar people here, all of whom I've gotten at least one or two strange looks from, and I find comfort in the presence of his gruff, foreboding form. He's nursing a second bottle of beer now, and I feel something like a twinge of jealousy for his healing factor as I sip my water, picking up the bit of my cigarette that hasn't burned away in the ashtray and inhaling.

"How much longer will we be driving tonight?" I ask, raising my voice a bit to be heard over a quarrel that seems to have broken out at the far side of the bar.

"Another few hours should do it for today, get us out of the desert and into the Midwest," he answers, taking another swig.

I nod. "Fantastic then."

There's another silence, one of the many it seems, that stretches out between us, though it's not uncomfortable. The scuffle at the end of the bar increases in volume, though no one in the saloon seems to mind too much, leaving the small group of men to argue loudly to one another, cursing and spitting as they see fit. I sing a verse softly to myself, finishing my cigarette.

"_I guess everybody's week must have been pretty rough.  
Cause everybody is drunk, loud, and pissed off.  
I know you hate to be impressed with someone else (other than yourself).  
But you know, trying to hold back on being an asshole helps."_

Logan lets out a breath of something like laughter and I look at him quizzically. "You can actually hear me above all this noise?"

"Enhanced hearing, remember?" he replies as the bartender sets our food in front of us, utensils at the edge of the plates. I go to thank him when I notice he's already moved on to another customer. Shrugging my shoulders, I set to eating when realization strikes. "You could hear me the entire ride over here, couldn't you?"

Logan nods and I groan, embarrassed. I sang everything from Frank Sinatra to New Order back to Garbage and the Faint, which, while it speaks for a well-rounded musical pallet, is still somewhat incriminating. "Er, yeah, sorry about that. I was bored, I hope it wasn't too obnoxious." I cut a bite of my steak and hope that the shit excuse they have for lighting in this place hides the red creeping up my throat.

He shakes his head, revisiting his eating habits from the previous evening. I'm about to leave the exchange for dead when he speaks. "You're not half bad, you should do it more often."

I almost drop my fork on the floor. "Really?" This man, for the little time I've known him, isn't the type for paltry compliments and pleasantries. In fact, he rarely speaks unless he has to or he feels the imminent need to express himself, which isn't often. This is something to take to heart, a moment to be cherished and recalled for the days to come when the going gets tough and I'm likely to be conniving as to how I can shave his mutton chops off in his sleep. I watch him look over at me and nod again before he returns to his meal. "You're no Ella, but you don't sound like shit, either, Mills."

I smile in spite of myself, probably the first really sincere one I've had in days, something he catches out of the corner of his eye. "Thank you, Logan. I really appreciate it." I chuckle as he mutters something under his breath, taking another sip of my water and watching people pass by from the mirror at the back of the bar. We finish eating and Logan pays our tab, leaving a tip for the bartender.

The two of us stride out into the night air, pleasantly full and I thank him for the meal, noting how utterly strange we must look to the passers by, of whom there are surprisingly quite a few. Noting the steak I'm currently digesting, though, it's understandable; such a hardy meal is in short stock on a road like this. We reach the truck and I hear him curse loudly.

"Son of a bitch!"

Concerned, I walk over towards him. "What is it?"

He growls and points to a long scratch running down the driver's side of the vehicle. Recalling the angry driver from before I scoff. "Keying someone's car? Jesus Christ, that's so immature."

But my words fall on deaf ears, Logan already stalking off in the direction of the other man's Ford pick-up truck. "Logan!" I call, running after him. "What are you doing?"

"Getting even," he states, the angry growl still evident in his tone.

"Is that a wise idea?" I ask, somewhat worried for the safety of the man stupid enough to bring on his wrath. I remember the passage with my assailant a mere twenty-four hours previously and trust me when I say that I know better than to fuck with this man. I would rather learn how to tango with a pit full of rabid wolverines.

My response is another growl as we reach the truck, and I hear a strange noise, like metal sliding out of something when I see-

"Holy fuck, Logan!" There are claws, three long, vicious looking blades sticking out from between the knuckles of his hand as he drags them gratingly down the side of the driver's cab, an even three lines from head to tail. Looking somewhat sated, he retracts them into his body and turns back to me, observing my gaping form with a raised eyebrow. I have the suspicion that those aren't something that came as an added bonus when his mutation surfaced.

He walks past me, back towards his truck. "Come on, kid, we've got a long way to go tonight before we pull off." Scraping my jaw off the pavement, I manage to follow after him, my mind bursting with questions for the ride onward.  
-----

Lyrics belong to the Strokes' 'Heart in a Cage'.

Lyrics belong to the Strokes' 'Fear of Sleep'.


	4. A Wolf At The Door

Author's Notes: Somewhere along the lines of watching the films and reading the comics, I've gotten it into my head that doing veritably anything with Logan eventually leads to something knock-down, drag-out in the physical, ass-kicking sense. This said, I made an attempt to sort of capitalize on it within the plot, using it as a catalyst of sorts to keep things moving. Hopefully it worked. Tune in next time for the arrival at Mutant High! Reviews are much appreciated and I'd love any feedback, cheers!

Disclaimer: ZOMG I AM LIKE, THE BROKE!1 I OWN NOTHING LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLZ!111

"_This town don't feel mine,  
I'm fast to get away…  
Far."_  
-Deftones, 'Be Quiet And Drive'

Chapter 4- 'A Wolf At The Door'

We climb into the truck and one glance from him silences me. It's one of those really pure, almost desperate "I don't want to talk about this right now, I'll tell you when I'm ready" looks that people so rarely give, and thus I squash my questions, biding my time with a bit of soft song and more gazing out the window. Puns abounding, I finish Iggy Pop's 'The Passenger' right as we pull off the highway and into the parking lot of a small, modest looking hotel. It's after midnight and I can feel my eyelids weighing heavily down upon me, seeming like Atlas' burden for all their trouble. I rub at them irritably, grabbing my backpack and hopping out as we go to secure a room for the night.

I'm watching Logan twirl the key around one finger idly as we walk down the building until we come to room number seventeen. Recalling my previous predicament with the lack of clean laundry I speak. "Hey Logan, do you mind if I go ask the clerk if there are any washing machines around here? I'm all out of clothes and we didn't have time to stop at a Laundromat today."

He considers it for a moment before nodding his consent. "Knock on the door when you're done." Turning the key in the lock, he flicks the lights on, stepping inside and closing the door. With a shrug, and a bit of happiness at the idea of fresh clothing, I walk back to the night attendant's office with my query. I'm still quite tender from the other day, so I take my time strolling over, backpack dangling from a shoulder, the right one, as it hurts the least.

Walking back to the front desk I smile politely. "Pardon me sir; is there a washer and dryer on location?"

The night attendant, reading a worn copy of a Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue looks up at me a moment and blinks, taking almost a full minute to process what I've said. I stand there, eyebrow raised, awaiting a response. "Uh, yeah, it's in the room round the back. Go back outside and take the first left, the door should be open."

Thanking him quietly, I exit and do as he says, finding the door open and the light on. Opening up the lone washing machine, I take the laundry inside and dump it in unceremoniously, not caring in the least at this point if I mix my darks with my lights, so long as they're clean and inoffensive in their scent. There's a detergent dispenser on the far side of the room and I pick up a plastic cup discarded nearby, searching my pockets for a quarter to put in so that I might acquire it's coveted cleaning powers. Finding the piece of change, I put it into the slot and twist, watching as the powder falls into my cup for a moment before it ceases and I plod back over to my machine. I take a whiff of the stuff and cough, the strong scent of laundry detergent slapping me in the face before I tip the cup over and dump it into the washer, turning it on and picking the "cold, large load" setting. Realizing that I'm going to be at this for quite some time, I pick up my CD player from within the depths of my backpack, grinning as I note the guilty pleasure of a mix CD within. In no time at all my wash is halfway done and I'm dancing about as much as is physically able in my condition, though no less idiotically, singing along to the song blocking all other rational sensibilities from my mind.

"_Give me envy, Give me malice, give your attention  
Give me envy, Give me malice, baby, give me a break!  
When I say "Shotgun", you say "Wedding"  
"Shotgun", "Wedding", "Shotgun", "Wedding"!"_

Noting the figure at the door, leaning against the frame with eyebrow quirked, I stop abruptly, ripping the headphones off and grasping for some semblance of dignity. Knowing there was none to be found after having been caught so utterly, I wince, taking the plunge. "Need to use the washer?"

Logan shakes his head, moving into the room and sitting on a lone plastic chair. "No, just coming out for a bit of fresh air." He pauses a moment, letting the awkwardness saturate the room before speaking again. "You choreograph all that yourself?"

I glare at him despite the blush creeping up my cheeks, noting the faint smirk on his face. "If I'd known I were to have an audience perhaps I might have worn my tiara as well. It's rude to sneak up on people, you know. I might have been in a state of undress or something equally as compromising."

He lets out a short bark of laughter. "Kid, there's not much more compromising that you could have done after those dance moves."

Scowling, I take my CD player and return it to my backpack. "If I'd been made aware you were going to be showing up anytime soon, trust me, I would have saved it for a more private occasion. Dancing like that usually takes place in one's undergarments in front of a mirror, knowing most of the people my age. Besides, I'm a bit classier than that, I'll have you know. I do ballroom."

There was a faint bit of surprise in his eyes, an appraising amusement. "Tango and all that stuff?"

I nod, hearing the buzz of the washer and transferring the load into the dryer in armfuls. "I've been taking lessons since I was about thirteen. My parents got so sick of seeing my trying to prance around to Disney movies as a child that they finally allowed me to go." I pause, glancing up at him to where he now stands on my right; it's then that the pang of unease settles into my gut and I look up at him. He's tense, sniffing the air in the silence, the whir of the dryer being the only notable sound for a few moments save the soft inhales and exhales. "There's something wrong, isn't there?" I ask in a low voice, fearing the answer.

"Wait here," he orders, slipping back outside and out of view, his footfalls making not a sound. Quickly I stop the dryer, throwing my damp clothing into my backpack and zipping it up, listening intently. My ears are met with silence, which only sets to put my nerves on edge. Then I hear it, the screeching halt of tires on asphalt and what sounds like a group of drunken, rowdy men.

It's a lynch mob.

Throwing my backpack on, I tear off towards the front office, only to find it conveniently empty of its former occupant. "Hello? Sir?" Not a sound, though I can hear hell being raised in the small parking lot behind me. Rushing to the desk, I do the first thing that any semi-responsible individual in my circumstance would; I dial 911. It takes me less than a second to realize that not only are we in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere, but that the law in places like this probably shares the views of the drunken, weapon-wielding lunatics outside when it comes to people like Logan and I. Cursing, I slam the phone back into its cradle and grab the fire extinguisher by the desk, booking it outside. I have to scoop my jaw off the floor when I see a nearby car on fire and three large, burly men already lying on the pavement. They look like discarded GI Joe action figures. And there in the middle of it all, in all his fierce, animalistic glory, is Logan, my amazing Knight in Denim Armor. There's six more guys railing on him still, and the biased stance irks me in a way that few things do. So, despite my injured state, I act with the rational of a thirteen year old with tortes, hurling the fire extinguisher as hard as I can towards them. It lands in the windshield of a rather familiar-looking pick-up truck and, for a moment, all eyes rest on me.

Its right about then that I come to realize, rather belatedly, I might add, that I'm a complete fucking idiot.

Jim Bob with the keys starts calling me all sorts of nasty things and suddenly he and a friend are charging at me like I'm swinging a red table cloth. So I do the next thing I can think of; I turn around and run as fast as my legs can carry me. Unfortunately, though, my legs aren't the smartest of limbs, and I'm cursing my sudden and illustrious bout of stupidity as I find myself in the laundry room once again. Because really, where else do you go when you want to get away from two hulking hillbillies hellbent on beating the shit out of you? They don't seem to fear the ultra clean scent wafting out of the room, because soon enough the two men are moving through the doorway and I'm trying hard not to do lines of detergent off the dryer to rid my senses of the smell of them.

"You got any idea how much I'm gonna have to pay to fix up mah truck on the count of y'all and your mutie friend?" he rages, nearing closer. He and his buddy know they have me cornered, so they're taking their time with it, their dim-witted, bloodthirsty minds soaking in the satisfaction of my supposedly helpless situation.

What they don't know is that I can feel all the water piping through this place, that I can feel it moving with more certainty than I can the blood flowing in my own veins. At this point it's just a waiting game. "If you weren't an asshole with a small penis complex, we wouldn't be having this discussion to begin with, would we?"

Jim Bob spits a wad of tobacco out and I wrinkle my nose in disgust. "Bitch, you're barking up the wrong tree. You'll be lucky to make it out of here tonight with a broken arm and some loose teeth after Zeke here has his way with you."

Shooting a look over at Zeke I curl my lip. Zeke looks like the sort of person who regularly has his way with a herd of sheep and I'll be damned if that man lays one finger on me, adding to the ménage of handprints, bruises and broken bones I've already acquired. "Please, you filth couldn't so much as breath on me if you wanted to. Now back _off."_

"I'm gettin' a li'l antsy man, you wanna let me have a go at her? She'll apologize to ya real nice like after I smack her a few times." There's less than ten feet between us and the bastard is play-swatting at my face with a big, meaty hand. Recalling the incident back at the ally, the utter rage at being so completely helpless within a situation, I feel something in me snap and the washing machine explodes, water shooting everywhere. Confused and hurt, the two men start shouting, trying to rouse themselves from where they lie against the wall, but the spray intensifies and refocuses, pinning them like insects to the plaster and the faded '60's wallpaper motif.

"Want to try and smack me around now, assholes?" I yell, holding my arm out towards the water flow and clenching my fist. The liquid engulfs their bodies, leaving only their heads bobbing stupidly above water, the currents around them too binding to allow any movement. "Want to make me pay for your idiocy in the parking lot of some stupid bar? With my body, no less? My underage _mutant_ body?" There's a deep, dark sort of satisfaction I achieve, watching their terror as I punctuate that last sentence with a slow rising of the water level. Aw, well will you look at that; the good ol' boys are sitting in the corner whimpering like babies. I'm almost on the verge of laughter when I hear someone else in the doorway.

"Mills? Are you all right?"

"Logan?" My concentration breaks and the water falls to the floor. I'm stunned for a moment, eyes looking him over.

He snaps me out of my haze. "Come on, kid, we don't wanna be here when the police arrive." He snarls down at the two sodden men cowering on the floor. I walk by them without incident and we go out to the parking lot.

I take in the scene and curse. "Holy shit, Logan, it looks like the fucking apocalypse hit out here!" There's two more vehicles on fire and a six person total body count. I'm not sure if they're alive or not, but I'd bet money on the fact that those bearing the tell-tale claw marks are going to wish they'd never woken up that morning. Assuming, of course, that they ever do wake up again. I'm so busy taking everything in as we go to Logan's truck that I barely have time to register the sound of someone cocking a loaded shotgun behind us. Logan, of course, amazing piece of genetics that he is, does, and I feel him grab fistfuls of my jacket, tossing me through the air while I shriek my confusion.

The shot goes off and I land, skidding to a halt on the other side of an old Honda Civic. Shaken, I raise myself and see the night clerk, standing a few feet away from the office, gun in hand. A cold, sick feeling wraps itself around my insides when I realize that Logan hasn't charged forward yet to make him into a human shishcobob. Ignoring the stabbing, aching pains in my chest I shamble over to his prone form, sprawled haphazardly across the ground. Kneeling, I have to struggle to keep the bile down my throat when I see the ugly wound on his stomach. "Logan? Logan, please wake up. Oh god, Logan?"

He's breathing, which is more than anyone without a mutant healing ability could say if they were in such a state, but it's low and shallow. My ears perk up as I hear the distinct sound of the shotgun being reloaded slowly, the owner of the weapon all too happy to take his time, apparently, with what appeared to be his final victim of the evening. Trembling with rage and exertion from the previous display of my powers, I stand. "You fucking monster," is the last thing he hears before the world's only desert tidal wave comes crashing down on him from above.

Walking shakily over to his sopping body, I pick up the shotgun, hurling it through the office window, unsure as to his state after taking such a blow. Strangely enough, it's that final thing that triggers the hotel's alarm system and I yell with frustration, hobbling my way back to Logan as fast as I'm able. His wounds have yet to seal themselves, prompting a great deal of scared psycho-babbling on my end as I try to drag him back toward his truck. "Come on you fucking pansy! You've got healing powers, what good are they if they don't fucking kick in on time!" I don't know if it's from sheer exhaustion at this point or the fact that I'm just too goddamn weak to finish the job, but I fall to my knees, unable to move him any further.

"Come on Logan, please wake up. I'm sorry for being difficult, I'm sorry for being a total pain in the ass. I'll be decent this time around, I swear. Please, please wake up," I'm patting his cheeks, trying to rouse him from his state to no avail. A choked sob rises up and out of me, tears streaming down my face at the hopelessness of my situation, grief for my fallen protector over-riding the rage of my vengeance and retribution against his attacker. I'm such a stupid, scared kid. "Please Logan? I need you, please don't leave me, I can't get to that stupid school without you. You're the only other person like me, please wake up!"

I cover my face with my hands, the hollow feeling of defeat setting in. For all he'd done for me, for his selflessness, he didn't deserve this, and there was nothing I could do to help him in the end. Sick with myself I look down at the injury on his stomach only to stare in wonder as the thing begins to close itself up, muscle and skin reknitting themselves as the offending bits of metal are discarded, falling onto the pavement below us. It's the most fascinating, magnificent thing I've ever seen and soon enough the final piece of skin closes over, leaving him unblemished, though drenched in his own blood. Awed, I carefully trace a hand over him, amazed beyond all comprehension. When he finally shoots up, breathing heavily and looking around wildly, I flinch, scooting backward a bit. "Logan?"

He calms, standing and looking down at his ruined clothes with a grimace. "We need to get out of here. The nearest police station is a half an hour away, but they'll be here soon." I pull myself to my feet unsteadily. At this point, I'm really not sure how much more of this I can take and Logan seems to notice. Brow furrowed, he looks me over. "You get him, Mills?"

Not "kid", "Mills", an amount of familiarity betraying the cool. I incline my head. "Yeah, I got him."

He nods his approval and I feel pride swell within me. Putting one of my arms over his shoulder and helping me walk back to the truck he acknowledges my state. "Sorry I scared you."

I bite back a sarcastic remark, understanding that any denial at this point is utterly futile. For all I know he actually heard my little tirade and that's enough to buy my sincerity. "It's all right. I mean, I knew you were going to heal and everything, but it just seemed to be taking so long and- fucking Christ, I've never seen something that bad, I've never seem so much blood in my life. Usually when that happens people die, and the thought of being out here all alone, of them finding me like this-"A chill runs up my spine and I banish my thoughts with a firm shake of my head. "Sorry, I'm rambling."

"It'll take more than a couple of truckers to get me outta commission, kid." He opens the passenger's side door of his truck and helps me up into it, shutting it when I've gotten myself situated. Climbing back into the driver's side he wastes no time in getting us the hell out of there and off the main highway, taking us on winding, sloping back roads that jostle me about uncomfortably. Not that it's really possible to ever be completely contented when one's ribs are broken but honestly, the potholes in this thing couldn't possibly have been repaired since the '70's, if even then.

"Are we stopping again tonight?" I ask drowsily, not really wanting to fall asleep in the car again due to nerves yet slowly losing ground to the weariness washing over my body.

He shakes his head, puffing away at a cigar. "Not tonight, it's too risky. We want to be a good long way off from that motel before we buckle down anywhere for the night."

I frown at him, concerned. "When are you going to sleep then? You look like shit, you need some rest."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, kid," he says, giving me a look. When he sees my actual worry he sighs. "I'll pull off for a few hours before dawn and sleep a bit, change out of my clothes. Happy?"

I snort, unbuckling my seatbelt and laying myself gently down on my side with a slight hiss of pain, curling up on the seat next to him. "I'd rather you actually ate a decent meal and then had a good night's rest, but I'll take what I can get." Sensing rather than seeing the raised eyebrow I add, "What? Someone has to worry about your scruffy ass."

He seems amused by this despite the tonality of what we've just left behind. "'Scruffy'? What is it with you and my hair, Mills? You have some sort of grudge against facial hair?"

"Facial hair? Please, I've seen cats with less whiskers on their face. That's a fucking forest, is what it is. Mutton chops and all that. Any more of it I'd start calling you Chewie." All right, so the dorky _Star Wars_ reference was a bit stupid, but noting the last two hours I'd like to think my offence toward my usual witticisms can be pardoned for the time being.

He shakes his head wryly and for a moment I'm amazed at the complete and utter trust I've developed in a person I've known for less than forty-eight hours. If someone had told me this were possible a week ago I would have laughed in their face and told them where to stick their stupid motivational speeches. And yet here I am, curled up in the passenger's seat of some P.O.S., beat-up crap basket on four wheels with Logan of all people. And even in spite of what happened earlier at the motel, I feel the safest I've ever been. Humming quietly to myself, "Greensleeves" if one were really that interested, I start to nod off, absently noting the fingers that reach down to brush the hair off my face before the bumps in the road lull me into slumber.

Lyrics (unfortunately) belong to Panic! At The Disco's 'Time to Dance'. Hooray for guilty pleasures.


	5. Automatic Stop

Author's Notes: Thank you ever so to everyone who has reviewed! I cannot express my glee coherently enough, seriously, you've all made my night. In this chapter we finally reach Xavier's fantabulous institute and madness abounds! Well, sort of. Some introductions are made, hopefully I'll have done a plausible job of keeping them down to character. Tune in next time for more intros and a game of verbal bitch slap. Feedback is appreciated! Thanks and enjoy!

Disclaimer: I still don't own anything except for Adrian; how poorly I must seem. All rights go to Marvel/FOX. I'm making nothing from this in a monetary sense, so go team.

"_You toss in a word,  
I'm your villain.  
I see the passion emerge,  
I'm your villain.  
But serious,  
You're so serious,  
Like a waiter  
Hating the rich  
But taking their tips."_  
-Franz Ferdinand, 'I'm Your Villain'

Chapter 5- 'Automatic Stop'

I awaken during the early hours of the morning, hazy blue fading into a rosy, peach hue that seems to echo in the silence of the world. I move to rise; muscles grumbling irritably at me from having maintained my crouched position so long, yet, the hand on my shoulder stops me. Lifting my head slightly, I gaze upward at the man sleeping next to me, head leaning peacefully against his seat. I'm startled by just how young he looks, almost vulnerable in the soft light pouring in through the windows. He's changed his clothes I realize, thankful to have as little as possible of the last evening in my present view. I'd rather cut my own foot off and eat it if I have to look forward to that bullshit the rest of my live-long days. My movement seems to have startled him though, small as it was, and his eyes snap open. He removes his hand quickly, almost as if I'd burned him, and cracks his neck. Annoyed by the loss of this small comfort, I sit up, wincing at my broken ribs. "Morning, Logan."

He grunts a noncommittal response and starts the engine, letting it warm up for a few moments before we start driving again. I sigh, pulling my headphones out of my backpack. The way this day is going I doubt we'll be talking much, if at all. He's in one of those moods again. I'd gander to say that he's just about as temperamental as a fifteen year old boy at this point, swimming in and out of indifference and hostility like he's just discovered puberty and emo, sans the crying. But honestly, what's the reason to get so uppity with me? I'm practically gimp at this stage in the game, for fuck's sake, like there's anything I could do to hurt a man with claws that spring out of his goddamn hands. Even without the healing rate he's a formidable opponent, and I can't even throw a punch. What a motley pair we are.

"Logan?" I'm not really interested in waking the proverbial beast at the moment, but I've got about twenty thousand questions bouncing off the inside of my skull and last night's shenanigans got them breeding like rabbits. I'll take my chances. "Where did you get the claws?"

Oh, nice one. If he was sullen before he's full-on brooding now. Go fucking team. A few minutes of tense silence pass before he gives me any sort of response, his tone even and low, a hint of weariness washing up to the surface. "Weapon X."

It's short and sweet, conveying everything, though this early in the morning my mouth moves faster than the slow churnings of my brain and I blurt out an unseemly "What?"

"It was an experiment, a government program trying to create super soldiers," he pauses for a moment and I'm certain he's going to snap at me. I'm obviously on thin ice here, we're not talking about the normal, day-to-day fucked up things that happen to people. Something of this caliber outranks that instantaneously. I shiver, the knowledge that Logan, the tough badass that he is, was taken into the labs. For god's sake, the man was like a bear, if they could get him who wasn't outside their limitations? I backpedal.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything, I was just-"

He shakes his head. "Don't worry about it. It ain't often someone doesn't ask about them the first time they see 'em."

"Well, they're not exactly common place," I agree, feeling some of the tension slipping away. I know better than to push this envelope and I move onto another subject. "So, what's up with this place in Westchester? Is it an actual school or is it just some sort of a safe house?"

"It's a school," he supplies, turning onto another road. I light up a post-dawn cigarette and take a drag.

"So what are you then, a teacher? Or do you just recruit?" I can't help but grin at the idea of Logan up in front of a classroom filled with children, trying to explain American politics or Joycian literature.

He half shrugs. "Don't really know yet, it's been a while since I've been out there."

Blowing out a smoke ring, I raise an eyebrow, suspicion churning in the murky waters of my mind. "I don't understand. Why'd you come pick my lame ass up if you're not even working there?"

"Chuck- er, the Professor's a really powerful telepath. I was out driving through Montana, taking the long way back from Canada when he contacted me, said he needed me to get someone for him."

His demeanor remained the same, though his tone became somewhat wry at the end, as if he were now amused with the Professor's notion. I couldn't really blame him, noting the way things had turned out thus far, and my wariness subsided. "So are you going to stick around after you drop me off?" I'm not terribly fond of the idea of him clearing out and leaving me with an entire school full of strange people, but I know that far worse could have happened had I never met him, so I'm willing to accept the situation, should it come to pass.

"Christ kid, its half past six in the morning and you're already going on like a goddamn wind-up toy," he grumbles exasperatedly.

"Feed me and I promise you'll get at least ten minutes of quiet while I'm shoving food down my gullet," I offer, hunger pangs making themselves known with low growls and groans. I have the grace to look sheepish as he smirks, driving along until we hit another town.

Breakfast is uneventful, my promise of silence withstanding for all but two minutes when I come back from the bathroom, having cleaned myself up a bit. The bruises around my neck are now so hideously apparent I've taken to wearing a knitted scarf, tiring of the stares I've had sent my way. Mind you, it's long since winter subsided, and the temperatures in our current area, sand having been traded for grassy pastures sometime during the night, are far from freezing.

"I feel like a misplaced snowman," I mutter, taking a sip of my water. "Or a scene kid. Fuck, that's even worse." Logan just snorts at my dilemma and pays the bill. Smarmy bastard and his mutation. He goes to use the restroom one last time and I plaster a smile on my face, mischief laying claim over the better judgments of my brain. Staring aimlessly at a quarter machine beside the exit, I concentrate on that gentle pull and focus within my mind. When Logan comes stalking out a minute later, face dripping with faucet water, I try my best to appear innocuous, and fail miserably. I'm practically seizuring with suppressed giggles as he hauls me outside. "Hysterical," he snarls, depositing me into my seat.

Apparently, in my sleep deprived state, it is, and I spend the next few minutes cackling away to myself while Logan all but snaps his teeth at me. For his sake I finally quiet, apologizing. "You still had a bit of dirt on your cheek from last night, at least it's gone now," I try.

"You're going to fit right in with those geeks at Xavier's place," he shakes his head, face now dry. After a minute he rolls his eyes. "The Professor."

"Oh!" Realization lighting up my face. "Sorry, still digesting." As if that's an excuse. Noting that I've effectively annoyed the living piss out of my companion, I attempt to tone it down a bit, humming a rather lively tune. At this point most of his irritation with me seems feigned, the gusto behind it fading into a charade with which to banter. We talk for a while, my aimless questions prompting some response or other, all varying in length and seriousness. It's comfortable, our voices thrusting and parrying or swimming gently against the humming currents of the vehicle bearing us forward. The sun continues on its journey westward and my chatter dies down, the symbiosis between the two explained by heavy eyelids, the little bit of sleep I did manage to get finally failing me. I fall asleep again, as I seem to do so often on this long drive, and awaken again sometime after nightfall. We grab a bite to eat at another nameless diner and pull off for the night after a few more hours on the road. Rinse, wash and repeat for another two blessedly uneventful days and there we are, driving through upstate New York, past all the stately homes and small towns until we reach that final gate.

I'm swallowing down my nerves like the breakfast I should have eaten this morning, trying to reel in the runaway train that is my heartbeat. After four long days on the road and nearly an entire pack of cigarettes smoked anxiously at the awareness of our impending destination, we've finally made it, the small sign reading "Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters" revealing this, despite my surprise. We've made good time, I know, especially for the condition of our vehicle, so when the gate opens I almost have to wonder if it's all real. And when Logan parks in the garage, driving up that vast, winding driveway, I pinch myself to be sure that I'm awake. I climb out of the truck slowly, almost vulnerable outside its close quarters, and gaze at all the numerous, immaculate automobiles with my mouth hanging open.

"You catchin' flies, kid?" Logan smirks at my state and I quickly straighten up, smoothing out my clothes as best as I'm able. I feel so out of place in something so grand as this in only the typical tee shirt and jeans ensemble, self-conscious even, but it's the best I can do at the moment and boy, don't I know it. We walk out of the garage and I quicken my pace, trying to stay as close to Logan as possible in this foreign environment. To call me nervous would be the understatement of the century, I'm so tense I jump at the sight of the first people in the foyer, a pretty girl no older than myself and a young man the same age, the former of which calls out to Logan and runs forward, embracing him happily. Awkward and momentarily on the back-burner, I try and discern their relationship, realizing again just how little I truly know about my Knight in Denim Armor. The boy steps forward and introductions between them are made, he saunters up in a way that screams "prep-school" and I restrain the urge to glare at him. Boy that he is, I can see him trying to make his territories known and it's obvious there's a pissing contest to be had. "Hilarious," I murmur, earning the attentions of the girl. She's quite striking, I realize, two locks of sheer white framing her youthful face. "Logan, did ya' bring a friend?"

Suddenly there's three pairs of eyes on me, blue, brown and hazel respectively and I fidget. "She's a new student, Chuck had me bring her in from California," Logan explains by way of a thumb over his shoulder.

I observe rather detachedly that my legs seem to have been glued to the hardwood floors while my attention was averted elsewhere, as I feel unable to move in my present state. "Er," I manage tastefully.

Much to my surprise the boy introduces himself first and I try to keep the displeasure from my face, banking on a grace that seems to have vacated my person upon our arrival. "I'm Bobby Drake, and this is Rogue," he motions to his girlfriend, both of which are currently before me. He extends a hand and I regard it for a moment, recalling his actions toward Logan previously. With a grin I shake it, my grip strong enough to warrant a blink of surprise. I nod to the girl. "Adrian Mills." I feel like I'm introducing myself on a fucking television show, this all seems so unreal.

"Ah suppose ya'll be wantin' to see the Professor," Rogue says, southern accent becoming apparent with a quiet flare. Taking my arm with a small smile, she leads me out of the entry-way. "Bobby and Ah can show ya' to his office. It was good to see ya' again Logan, we'll catch up later!"

With the dynamic duo all but dragging me down the hall I look back over to Logan, "over-whelmed" written all over my face. He sends a soft smile our way and I feel my anxiousness lessen, understanding its related comforts. Focusing my eyes ahead, I shift the weight of my backpack and continue onward, Bobby taking this time to play twenty questions with the fresh meat.

"So, Adrian," he fixes me with a peppy, friendly smile and I try to restrain myself from asking his prescription. "What part of California are you from? I have relatives in San Francisco."

"Los Angeles," I reply, eyeing the sumptuous décor of the hallways we pass through, the high ceilings and the wood paneling on the walls. This is, quite easily, the most beautiful home I've ever been in, and I almost have a hard time believing it to be a school. As if on cue a small group of children race by, giggling to one another and, shaking myself, I realize Bobby's just asked me another question.

"Pardon?" Suddenly Logan and I aren't the only two mutants in the world anymore and it's taking a bit for me to come to grips with it. I don't know what these two can do, the girl to my left clad in opera gloves while the boy on my right repeats himself, but I can feel their assurance and my lack of control suddenly seems obvious.

"I asked if it was a long drive."

I chuckle slightly, biting back the Insta-Logan reply that tries to claw it's way out of my throat. "A bit, yeah." It's well over three thousand miles, if that isn't a fucking long drive I'm the bloody Tooth Fairy. We arrive at a large door and, as Rogue raises one delicately gloved hand to knock, a voice behind us stops her in mid-action.

"The Professor's in a meeting, can I help you three?" An attractive, slender woman meets my gaze as we turn, smiling politely. I take note of the long, flowing red hair she has perched high atop her head and wait for one of the others to speak.

"Dr. Grey, this is Adrian, she's lookin' to get settled," Rogue supplies much to my relief, as I have the sudden understanding that if Bobby speaks again I'm likely to swat him as I would punishing a hyperactive terrier. "She's come all the way from Los Angeles."

"Ah, yes, the Professor mentioned we'd be seeing you soon."

Dr. Grey, the woman standing before us, has quite possibly one of the most calming demeanors I've ever found myself at the grace of beholding. My nerves almost seem to melt in their tension and I manage a small nod in her direction. After my near-panic attacks this morning, her presence is a welcome one. "Logan mentioned that this was a school, what would I have to do to become enrolled?"

"We'll take care of all that later with the Professor, why don't you and Rogue go and get you comfortable. I take it there's still a bed free in your room?" The doctor looks to Rogue and she confirms. "Excellent. The Professor will contact you when he's available, I'm sure these two would be quite happy to show you around for the time being." She extends a fine-boned hand to me. "It's a pleasure to have you here, Adrian, let us know if you need anything."

And I thought I was over-whelmed before. "Th-thank you, doctor," I manage, taking her hand and shaking it, though with a far more gentle grip than the one I previously gave Bobby. She continues on her way down the hall and the latter makes an excuse to go off for a bit, telling us he'll come and check up on us in a little while. I sigh deeply as he too departs and Rogue and I set off up a rather majestic looking staircase at the end of the hall.

"Sorry, ya'll have to forgive his excitement, he's really a good guy," Rogue offers when we reach the top, continuing down another hallway.

"Oh, it's all right. Sorry, I'm just a bit out of sorts, I've- well, this is all pretty new to me still," I reply, giving her a small smile. She's a nice girl, someone I might be able to become friendly with, so long as her goddamn boyfriend tones it down a bit. At this rate I'm tempted to give him perpetually cold showers just to shut him up. "So, um, what's your mutation?"

She smiles grimly. "Mah skin. If ah touch people Ah absorb them, their powers, their memories, their life force. It's a little alienating," she finishes, observing me.

"Goddamn, that's pretty hardcore," I comment, my grasp on my vocabulary still eluding me despite my best efforts. When she sees that I haven't flinched away from her or gone running for the hills she turns the question back on me.

"What about you?"

I chuckle. "I can sense and manipulate water, though I have a pretty shitty grasp of it at the moment. I was so nervous about coming here earlier that accidentally caused a whole row of toilets to overflow themselves when Logan and I took a brief reprieve at a rest stop in the Catskills."

We arrive at a door and she laughs, opening it to reveal a large room with four desks, dressers and single beds. "Well, here they can teach ya to control your gift, which is reassuring for the plumbing, ah'm sure."

"Of course," I grin, recalling Dr. Grey's words earlier. "So, you have two other girls who stay here with you? This hardly looks like a co-ed sort of dorm."

Rogue snorts. "Were the other two here they'd probably have wet themselves for the opportunity. Kitty and Jubilee are in Professor Munro's class right now, they should be back in a half an hour or so. Ya wanna unpack and go look around?"

"Sure. Actually, I can unpack later; all that driving made me sort of stir-crazy." I stretch carefully, grimacing at the momentary, sharp pain it brings. Rogue, observant creature that she is, takes note of this.

"Did ya hurt yourself?"

I bite my cheek a moment, thinking of how I'm supposed to conversationally reveal that I was kicked to shit by some whack job in a back alley. "I got into a bit of a fix back in LA, though Logan came to my rescue. He's a good man, I owe him a lot."

"Like your life?" There's a knowing smile that plays upon her lips, and suddenly I realize that we might have more in common than I'd originally anticipated.

"Yeah, actually. How did you-"

"He saved mine too, brought me here and everything. He rescued me from Magneto about a year ago, before he took off for a bit."

I frown slightly, confused. "What the fuck is a Magneto?"

She gives a wry laugh, taking my hand in her gloved one. "We'll talk about it later. Lets go get Bobby and show ya around a bit first." Accepting, I drop my stuff on the available bed, the one closest to the door, and follow her back down the hall, taking a left towards a different wing of the mansion.

"I take it this is the way I'll go if I'm sneaking about for a midnight rendezvous?" I waggle my eyebrows at the innuendo and she laughs again.

"If ya should be so inclined, yes, though Ah'd watch out; Professor Summers is a bear when he catches people creeping 'round at night." We pause in front of a door and knock. I run a hand through my hair, smoothing down the long tresses and trying to ignore the growing nerves at the pit of my stomach, vying to take control of myself and experience all of this as any normal person would, mutant or otherwise. They were all new kids too at one point or another, I rationalize with myself as the door opens, a young man standing in it's place. Ignoring Rogue he looks straight at me, dark eyes boring into my own gray-blue while flicking the top of an old Zippo open and closed. "Who the hell are you?"

I raise an eyebrow and open my mouth to reply, but Rogue beats me to it. "Is Bobby here? We were gonna show her 'round." Catching his smirk she warns, "She's new John, so back off and be nice."

He snorts. "Your boyfriend went to go hand something in to Professor Summers." Returning his attention to me, something I can say with quite a bit of certainty that I'm in no way fond of, he motions to my neck. "What's with the scarf? It's fucking April."

I'm about four broken ribs short of punching this asshole in the jaw. "I'm a bit cold, something I'm sure you'll grow to realize in the near future." There's enough venom to hint at my irritation, but nothing to make things too terribly awkward. I've only been here for an hour, I'm really not looking to make enemies, even with this punkass. Give me another day and I'll school him.

We're borderline glaring at one another, regarding each other over the doorway as he continues to flick his lighter open and closed, the rhythmic clicking managing to set a sort of abstract beat to the encounter. Rogue sighs with a note of irritation. "Christ John, can ya stop that for just a moment?" He complies, as she requested, and continues on again, our standstill brought to a sudden halt. "St. John Allerdyce, this is Adrian Mills, she just arrived."

I see the cynicism in his eyes, the unimpressed sort of amusement he observes me with and I barely manage to keep from scratching my palms, which itch to slap the look off his face. He extends a long-boned hand forward and smirks. "It's a pleasure."

Taking his hand in a grip far more sturdy than the one I gave Bobby earlier that afternoon, I give him a thin smile. "Likewise." My eyes narrow slightly as I feel the pressure of his hold intensify, meeting the unspoken challenge and raising it. It's not until Rogue clears her throat, looking pointedly at our white-knuckled hands that we pull apart.

"Ya mind if we come in? It's kinda awkward, standing 'round in the hall like this."

John moves aside, sweeping his arms inward. "Please, make yourselves at home." The sarcasm is beyond evident and Rogue rolls her eyes, walking past him. I follow suit, meeting his gaze steadily as I move to stand beside Rogue, who sits on a bed I assume belongs to Bobby. The door shuts rather audibly and John goes to stand near his own side of the dorm. It's a bit smaller than the one Rogue and I share with the other girls, the state varying depending upon which half of the room one were to observe; Bobby's is clean, not sterile, but definitely well-cared for, while John's looks to be well lived in. The epitome of, in fact. Trying not to let my gaze linger too long on the unmade bed at the opposite side of the room, my eyes find their way toward the CD rack against a nearby desk. "Who's the Radiohead fan?"

Click, pause. Click, pause. Click, pause. "I am."

Great, now we can both vie for the position of resident music snob. Good taste or not, though, this kid is obviously a Class A dick and I'll make no mistakes about it. Nodding my head a bit, I concede. "Nice choice. You missing 'The Bends' for any reason in particular?"

He shrugs in a way that intones that he can't possibly be bothered to care whether or not I'm actually attempting to be civil. My itch grows into something like athlete's foot on my palms. "It broke a while back."

Rogue appears to be watching this exchange with a bit of interest and with that knowledge I swallow the last of my judgments. Observe attempted good deed number one. "I have it if you'd like to borrow it sometime." I'm in a new school, I've barely been here an hour; I refuse to let this asshole get under my skin. Whatever his deal is, whatever issue he has towards the rest of the world is his own goddamn problem. I'm just waiting for his stupid roommate to get back so that I can go on my fucking happy little tour, have my spectacular meeting with the omnipotent Professor and then fuck off. No offense intended to Rogue, as it's not her that's got my hackles raised, but I really miss Logan's company right now, his gruff, no-bullshit assurance, and I could use a bit of time with him, not that he probably isn't rejoicing over the burden lifted from his shoulders. Oh, what a fix I'm in.

John snaps me out of my reverie with his response, the bored arrogance in his tone making me want to shove my head through the nearest wall for my previous offering. "I'll think about it."

"Don't hurt yourself on my account," I mutter, thoroughly vexed. Rogue seems to be enjoying our little bantering session, and I see an opera-gloved hand come up to cover her mouth, eyes smiling.

He smirks and I think my left eyelid starts to twitch slightly. "Wouldn't dream of it, sweetheart."

I glare up at him, up the lithe body clad in a pair of jeans and a hastily done button-up shirt. Under other, less demeaning circumstances perhaps the sentiment might have been welcome, but my eyes are practically shooting daggers and I can see the amusement he gets from this, egging me on, the easy prey. He takes a step closer. "Is your mutation annoyance?" I manage to bite out. "You're just about the single most obnoxious thing I've ever had the supreme displeasure of meeting in my entire life."

"She's a regular home-maker, Rogue, you should have her over the next time you and Popsicle Boy decide to play house," he chortles, thumbing his lighter open again. "And, for your information," he flicks the wheel with a thumb and stares at the flame for a moment before it jumps into his waiting hand, "I control fire."

"St. John, you're bein' rude!" Rogue exclaims, standing. "Can't ya just be decent until Bobby gets back and cool it?"

A small grin ghosts over my lips as I take note of a glass beside Bobby's bed, half full on a bedside table. Feeling that familiar weight within my mind, I press my will into it, watching as it begins to pour up and out of the glass. "I'm sure darling Bobby will only be a few more minutes. There's no need to get riled on my behalf, I can take care of myself."

The look on John's face conveys his apparent, mocking disagreement. That is until, of course, a hiss of steam rises and he's got a palm full of water, the flame extinguished. He curses, wiping the wet on his pant leg before glowering at me, my ante having upped the stakes past show-and-tell at this point. I've disgraced him on his own turf, in his own room, for god's sake, and I'll be damned if that isn't bound to sting a little. His ego looks like it just took a pretty decent blow and I'm feeling pretty confident with myself, my abilities honing themselves the more I utilize them. The tension in the air is palpable and I can see Rogue's now obvious discomfort out of the corner of my eye. The poor thing is probably wondering if it was a good idea to even bring me here, noting how fast things have escalated between myself and her friend when good ol' Bobby opens the door cloaked in smiles. I swear to god, the boy must defecate sunshine.

"Hey guys, what's up?"

"Just introductions," Rogue says hastily, going over to his side and linking their arms. "So, we ready to go?"

Rogue could have asked him if he wanted to skinny dip in the La Brea tar pits and he'd have been game by the look on his face. "Sure! John, you coming?"

He snorts. "Nah, I've got better things to do. I'll catch you geeks later."

Bobby shrugs, motioning for me to follow them out the door. "All right, we'll catch you later. Come on, Adrian."

Walking out of the room I go to shut the door, finding John with his hand already on the handle. Unable to stop the smirk forming on my face I pause a moment. "It was absolutely fantastic making your acquaintance. See you around, Prometheus."

"Yeah, whatever." The door shuts. My smirk transforming into a look of pure satisfaction with myself, having bested the first sign of adversary in my new home, I jog over to Rogue and Bobby, who are already halfway down the hall. Water, I can feel it now, the surging confidence rolling in beneath the surface. I've finally attained the beginnings of something stable for the first time in weeks and it's incredible. Serene, I chat amiably with the couple beside me as we make our way back down the hall and around the grounds of Xavier's exceptionally gifted school.  
-----


	6. Beat Your Heart Out

Author's Notes: Herein lie more character introductions and a goodly bit of fun. Thanks to all who reviewed, I really appreciate it. I'm still working on the next chapter, so hopefully I'll have it up and done soon. I hope to get more feedback in the future, as it really does help me out, even if it's just a brief note telling me I'm on the right track. Thanks again! Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING BUT ADRIAN LOLOLOLZ.

"_Oh, my life is changing everyday,  
In every possible way.  
And oh, my dreams, it's never quiet as it seems,  
Never quiet as it seems."_  
-The Cranberries, 'Dreams'

Chapter 6- 'Beat Your Heart Out'

Green, lush plant life stretches as far as the eye can see, the natural cocoon of upstate New York sheltering the vegetation from harm. Bobby and Rogue have taken me out to the gardens, showing me the immaculate, earthy beauty the grounds have to offer and I breathe deep my satisfaction. Everything is so peaceful here, even with all the younger children running about, playing games and chattering loudly to one another. There's no discord here, no tension and adversity to taint the nurturing ambiance. I feel like I've wandered into a biosphere.

"Professor Munroe upkeeps the grounds," Bobby tells me, gesturing to the hedges and the flower beds before us. "She can control the weather."

"Which means that if she's pissed it's hailing?" I smile. Rogue nods with a laugh. I'm about to add on, but I'm suddenly cut off by what I can only describe as a voice. Inside my head. Talking to me.

Holy mother of god, I've finally lost it.

_"Miss Mills, if you'd be so kind to come to my office I'd be much obliged."_

"The mother fuck!" I spin about, looking wildly for whomever the voice might belong to.

Bobby grins. "The Professor, eh? Try getting one of those when you're in the bathroom."

I'm still glancing about, perplexed. That's right, Logan mentioned Professor Xavier's telepathy on the drive over, how careless of me. "So do I just go to him then?"

"It'd be a good idea, he won't bite," Rogue smiles, clearly amused by my flustered state.

"Fucking telepaths," I mutter, redirecting my attention to Bobby and Rogue. "Thanks again for taking the time to show me around, I really appreciate it. I guess I'll see you both at dinner?"

"Of course, see ya!" Rogue waves as I head off, back into the school, pausing a moment to let my eyes readjust. Thinking back to a few hours earlier in the day, I retrace my footsteps, finding the Professor's office in a few minutes. Taking a deep breath I let it out slowly, feeling the air leave my lungs, giving a soft knock upon the rich wood of the door. A muffled "Come in" is heard and I enter, opening the door slowly.

I walk into a rather immaculate, sophisticated room, books lining the walls from floor to ceiling, save behind the massive desk, where large windows preside. The desk in itself must be almost half the size of my old bedroom and I'm taken in be the grandeur of it all momentarily before my eyes come to rest upon the gentleman in the wheelchair, who maneuvers himself towards me. "Miss Mills, welcome. I am Professor Charles Xavier."

He extends a hand to me and I have to wonder if everyone here shakes hands on a daily basis, just for shits and giggles. "Thank you sir, it's a pleasure." I incline my head respectfully for a moment, looking at the older man. Had he the use of his legs, I imagine he'd be taller than me, though his dignity makes him seem to encompass the room, a warm and gentle presence, like Dr. Grey's only far more potent. Smiling, he leads me to a chair and bids me to be comfortable. I sit and he takes his place once again behind the desk.

"I trust you've found your lodging to be suitable?" he asks, regarding me from across so much mahogany. I give a quick nod, smiling somewhat nervously.

"Sir, you could have put me in a spare broom closet and I'd have been comfortable, thank you."

Professor Xavier chuckles. "Well, lets hope we don't have to resort to such measures any time soon. Now, Logan briefed me on your journey across the country and while he believes you to be in no immediate physical danger from the injuries you sustained I want you to know that, should you desire it, you are eligible for any medical attention you might need."

"Thank you, Professor, I appreciate your kindness." This man is, without a doubt, the nicest principal I've ever met in my entire life. In fact, he may just be the nicest man I've ever met period. "Is there anything else Logan might have mentioned?"

"Other than the fact that you're exceedingly stubborn about your wake up time in the mornings and that you enjoy singing in the shower, no, my dear, he did not." The Professor smiles, chucking at me as I turn what I can only imagine is a rather fetching shade of pink. Chops and I are so having a little chit-chat about this later.

"Now," he continues, "We have all your schooling records on file, so enrollment won't be a problem in the least. And no-" he silences me with a motion of his hand, "you needn't worry about fees."

I shift awkwardly in my seat, the expensive leather squeaking, much to my chagrin. Logan had mentioned the kindness of the Professor before, but actually experiencing it first hand made me want to hug the older man for his compassion. I manage a shy "Thank you, sir," before he continues.

He steeps his fingers on the desk, regarding me for a moment. "I understand that you have the ability to manipulate water? Can you sense it as well?"

I nod. "Yes sir."

"Excellent. One of the main focuses of our school, Miss Mills, is to train our students to utilize and control their powers. Students are given bi-weekly lessons with an assigned professor in order to guide and monitor their progress so that we might see some growth, albeit in a safer environment."

"Thank god," I breath a small sigh of relief. "When do I start? I mean, you heard about the gymnasium incident, I'd really rather that never happened again. Ever. Unless by my own volition."

"Of course, and understandably so. Your lessons will begin tonight at eight o'clock in the evening should you feel up to it, after supper." He hands me a piece of paper. "These are the classes you'll be taking for the remainder of this semester, though there is an added elective, should you be interested in taking it."

I raise an eyebrow. "What is it, sir?"

"I've asked Logan to teach a self defensive combat course for our older students," he supplies, eyes smiling as he gauges my reaction. "I assume you'd like to enroll?"

Memories of Logan over the last five days come to mind, the two main thoughts surfacing easily; Logan saving me in the back alley, Logan surrounded by chaos and destruction in a cheap motel parking lot. I recalled my own frustration during the past, unable to do anything but cower and run, to talk at my opponents. I'd give my left arm to ensure I were never that helpless again. I smile grimly. "Yes sir, I'd like that very much."

"Splendid, especially as it's mandatory for all upperclassmen. The class will meet in the gymnasium at half-past four every business day until the end of the school year, there will be a school outing tomorrow afternoon to the local sporting goods store for whatever peculiarities you might need to acquire," he informs me, stopping me before I can ask the question. He glances over at a tall, stately grandfather clock. "Good gracious, supper has started. You'll have to forgive me for keeping you so late, Miss Mills."

I stand, taking my cue to leave. "Adrian is fine, sir. And thank you for everything, I can't tell you how much all of this means to me. Perhaps I can repay you someday."

The Professor laughs quietly. "Don't concern yourself with such trivialities, Adrian. There are many students here who are unable to pay tuition and it's not a concern of the school. We're funded privately and I can assure you that we have no need to worry about money, and nor should you. Now, you'd best head down to dinner, the students here are all growing and I can promise that they won't wait for you to start."

My words stick in my throat for a moment as I stand in awe of his generosity. "Thank you again sir," I pocket the schedule he gave me lest I forget it and go to the door. "I can't begin to thank you for all that you've done."

"You're welcome Adrian, take care," he beams kindly at me and I return the gesture, exiting the room with a soft click as the door finds it's place. I take a moment to recompose myself, the paper in my back pocket momentarily forgotten as the lump in my throat melts away. These people I've hardly known more than a day, more than a week in the case of Logan, have done more for me than I could ever hope to repay, all because of who I am. After so much dread and trepidation of what I've become, it's truly a welcome transformation. These other mutants, they're not the monsters human beings make them out to be, and their benevolence has touched me to the core. I may still have trouble coming to terms with what I am, what I can do, but the burden has lessened considerably over the better part of this week and I'm beyond grateful for it. Feeling more sure of myself and my situation than I had in quite a long while, I made my way down toward the dining hall, the scent of food tantalizing my olfactory senses.

I entered the large room, blinking in surprise at the amount of people residing within. The dining hall was a fairly decent size, the students taking up a vast majority of it whilst seated at long, cafeteria style benches or small tables off to the sides, near the windows. There was a regular sized table towards the head of the room and I saw Logan sitting there with Dr. Grey and a few other adults I'd not yet met. Discerning it to be the teacher's table, I gave him a small smile over the crowd. Catching my gaze, he gave me a nod, his lips forming into that safe half-grin I knew so well. It's strange, I noted, no longer spending all my time with him as I had over our trek across the country. I wasn't quite experiencing withdrawals, but I definitely missed his quiet assurance. Perhaps later I'd be able to run into him, catch up a bit on how his day had gone what with his homecoming and all. Now, though, my main focus was on getting to the buffet-style tables against the wall to my left, waiting in line behind a few younger students and a large, well-muscled young man. He looks like a modern-day Goliath and I give him a shy smile as he looks down at me. I think I'll ditch the Biblical terminology in favor of Michelangelo at this point, though, as I'm convinced that I've just found what most women would call "the perfect specimen of a man". I want to name him David and put him in a museum, he's so ideal, so flawless. Looking away quickly, so as not to drool all over myself, I quickly collect a tray and set myself to the task of scoping out my food selections. After almost battling over the balsamic vinaigrette with an younger boy, I found my meal complete. Turning around to find a place to seat myself I noted an Asian girl frantically waving in my direction. Baffled, I turned to look behind me, wondering if perhaps she'd confused me with another student. A closer look at her, though, and her ridiculous yellow jacket, revealed her to be seated beside Bobby and Rogue, and thus I walked over to them.

There were about six of us altogether, all crowded around two of the smaller tables that had been pushed together in the vain hopes of creating more room. 'David' was there, as was a petit, cute girl with shoulder length brown hair and a quick smile. I'd hardly set my tray down and taken in the rest of the faces when I was assailed by a blur of yellow somewhere around my midsection and a bunch of high-pitched babbling. Barely managing to stifle a screech of agony at the unintended abuse of my broken ribs, I awkwardly gave the girl a half-hug in response.

"Holy shit, Kitty, I thought she'd never get here!"

I looked down at the bundle of energy before me with an eyebrow warily quirked. What in the hell was she? Was this a part of her mutation? To be blunt, I didn't get it.

The petit girl, Kitty, apparently, gave a laugh. "Geez, Jubes, let her get settled a bit first, you scared her!" I took a breath in attempt to regulate myself, gain control of the ache that had been renewed in my torso. I caught a sympathetic wince from Rogue.

"It's- er, it's a nice to meet you?" I wasn't really sure what to do with this, I've never been good at first impressions, especially when I'm the odd man out in an already established group of friends. And then I heard it, to my right.

Click, pause. Click, pause, Click, pause.

Oh, for fuck's sake. You've got to be kidding me.

Bobby cleared his throat. "Guys, this is Adrian, she just came in this afternoon from California. Adrian," he grabbed my attention away from the source of that damnable, obsessive-compulsive racket and began with introductions. "This is Piotr," he motioned to my 'David' and I managed a weak wave, "Kitty" the other girl all but purred with contentment in the social atmosphere, "Jubilee," the hyper-active Asian death-grip in the rain poncho waved madly at me, "and you've already met John."

"That I did," I manage with some civility, noting the bored smirk of the brown haired boy and seating myself as easily as I'm able in the space between Kitty and Piotr. "It's great meeting all of you, er, thank you."

"When word got out that these three might have a new roommate one can only imagine how fast it spread," Piotr said, his voice thick with a cultured Russian accent. "Jubilee was beside herself with glee at the prospect of new company."

"Because we're just so damn boring," Rogue smirked, taking a bite of salad.

"Speak for yourself," John muttered, spearing a piece of chicken on his fork.

"We were actually trying to guess as to what powers you might have," Kitty supplied, sipping a glass of juice. "We only heard you were coming a few days ago, so we didn't have much time to brainstorm, but Jubes was convinced you'd have some sort of crazy pheromonal lust-magic and I think Rogue and I agreed on telekinesis or psionic blasts."

I'm not sure whether to be amused or creeped out, but for the sake of decency I choose the former, grinning disarmingly. "Well, as I'm sure it's rather obvious, I lack the first option quite completely, and the second is beyond me. I hope none of you had any money riding on this."

"So what can you do chica?" Jubilee asks me between mouthfuls of pasta. "I may be out of two dollars, but I'll be damned if I'm without answers!"

"I can sense and control water," I begin to eat my own salad, savoring in the quality of the vegetables, something, I realize, I'd gone completely without since my journey with Logan had begun. Ah, the open road and it's eternally savory selection of 1950's motif diners.

"A glorified water filter. Great Bobby, now you can get your mom to stop sending you all that Brita shit," John grinned, leaning back in his chair cockily. A vast majority of my brain is hoping he'll lean back too far and fall flat on his ass.

"Oh, please, don't stop now, Prometheus. Your wit, it enraptures me," I deadpan, taking a sip of cranberry juice.

"Glad to note someone's finally being reasonable around here," he takes a forkful of mashed potatoes and I roll my eyes. "And if you're going to give me a lame nickname, you can stick to Pyro."

"Yes, I suppose you're right. Giving you the name of something so prestigious and steeped in ancient Greek mythology really is giving you a bit too much credit, isn't it?" I must have taken dining etiquette classes taught by Logan, because I've practically torn my piece of chicken breast to shreds while playing diner conversation bitch-slap with Bobby's asshole roommate. The former seems to take note.

"Wow, you two haven't stopped going at it since you met, have you? I mean, seriously, my grandparents don't even fight this much, and they've been married for forty-seven years." Piotr nods in silent agreement, although a quick glance tells me that he's enjoying this little spectacle just as much as the rest of them. Sneaky bastards.

"Bobby, shut up!" Jubilee swatted at her friend. "You're ruining a banter the likes of which haven't been witnessed by this school since Logan called Professor Summers, and I quote, 'a gay boy scout with a tire-iron up his ass.'"

"What banter?" Kitty looked confused as she chewed thoughtfully on a green bean. "I just remember the two of them beating the living crap out of each other."

"Learn to listen, Kitty-Cat, there were words in between all the explanatives and the battle cries. And trust me, it was gold."

"Professor Summers?" I raise an eyebrow. Logan never mentioned him, so I suppose he must not be too terribly important, but if he and my Knight don't get along… well, I hate to be biased, but I do respect Logan more than anyone I've ever met in my entire life. And then there's that under-lying hero complex I've got somewhere in the back of my mind, so I'm going to surmise that Summers' chances are slim to none.

"He's the guy with the red glasses," Rogue supplies, gesturing toward the professor's table with her fork. "Ya'll meet him soon enough, he teaches our English 'n Literature classes. The Professor gave ya' your schedule when ya' went to meet with him, right?"

"Yeah, he did," I pull it out of my pocket and hand it to her across the table. Her eyes scan over it quickly, Bobby reading over her shoulder.

"Classes aren't too varied, seeing how there's not a whole lot of older students," Bobby informs me, "but they're pretty interesting. It looks like we'll be seeing a lot of you." John and I both manage to appear discontented by this revelation.

"That combat class is for real!" Jubilee looks nervous. "I'm not sure I like the idea of having Logan as a teacher, he seems sort of… unstable."

"Unstable isn't the word, Jubes, he's a lunatic," Kitty corrected her.

I take this all in and try my best not to lash out at my two new roommates. My eyes meet Rogue's and a look of understanding passes through us, the knowledge that these other people haven't yet experienced the utter selflessness that is Logan, that they know not of what they speak. They've fallen for the front he puts up, the rumors that are bound to have milled about such a small learning institution, especially in his absence.

Piotr shakes his head at the two girls. "He is a brilliant fighter, I've seen him myself. Lunatic or not, I could learn quite a bit from him." The others nod, seeming satisfied with this answer.

"He's really not a bad guy," I say after a moment, considering my words carefully. "I'm not trying to come off like I've been close with him for forever, but in the time I have known him I can honestly say I would trust him with my life, without question or hesitation. Goodness knows he's saved it enough."

Rogue agrees heartily. "He really is a good man, one of the few left, ah believe."

Bobby looks at his girlfriend, his ego having taken a blow. "What does that make me then?"

"Bobby, sweetie, no offense," Jubilee cuts in, "but you're hardly a 'man' yet. Anyone still attending this school, with the exception of Piotr, perhaps, is still a puppy as far as the subject is concerned."

"Here, here!" Kitty claps her hands, laughing.

"And what, by your meager standards, makes a man?" John asks.

A volley of things like "experience" and "maturity" are heard from all the girls at the table, myself included, though most audible is Jubilee's brilliant "Duh, his body" comment. John rolls his eyes heavenward and the unspoken, "This is hopeless" is echoed around him.

The rest of dinner continues like this, another hour passing easily before everyone disintegrates to complete homework assignments or hang out in the rec room. Glancing up at the clock I curse, noting that it's almost five to eight. At this point I'm walking along, back towards the dorms with Kitty and Rogue, Bobby having deflected to finish a last minute paper a few minutes earlier, St. John in toe. Excusing myself, I race back downstairs, only to realize that I have absolutely no idea where the hell I'm going. I curse, recalling that I'd never asked Professor Xavier where to meet my instructor. For the second time that day I find myself standing gawkily in the foyer, though minus the comforting presence of Logan. Hearing footsteps behind me, I whirl about, somewhat startled in my rush.

"Adrian Mills?" A woman stands before me, striking in her appearance. Where Dr. Grey is a more conservative sort of beauty, this lady is something else entirely, a force to be reckoned with. Dark skin and shocking white, close-cropped locks of hair with a stylish wardrobe to boot, I nod my head to her in answer, unable to find words to speak in her current presence. Part of me wonders if the Professor hand-picks his staff merely due to their runway model-esque status, but I know better than that. He's an astute man, a brilliant, powerful individual, and he concerns himself with far greater tasks than something so utterly base and trivial.

"I am Professor Munroe," she smiles, one of the only people I've met today who hasn't wanted to shake hands, and I'm grateful for it, not that I'm adverse to the gesture. "Perhaps you'd care to go into a brief training overview? We just need to test your powers out and see what you're able to achieve before we can help you to control and utilize them to their fullest extent."

I give her a polite smile in response. "That would be fantastic, Professor, thank you." So it appears that I'll be training with the Weather Witch herself. I recall my earlier comment in the garden somewhat sheepishly and follow the older woman through the mansion quietly. I can feel the slow, nervous excitement coursing through my veins at the thought of actually working to develop my powers, to learn what I'm really capable of. It gives me purpose, this knowledge, it helps to build a foundation of meaning around my life, especially as I'm so eager to bury the old one. I'll take it out back, send it to the proverbial farm with a nice family and rid myself of it somewhere so that it shan't return to haunt me. I've a feeling that with this new life, this new era of Adrian, I'll have little time to be floundering about in something I once was, and I'm proven right as my mentor takes me down a small flight of stairs and into the largest room I've ever seen. Right now, I couldn't stop smiling if my life depended upon it; after what feels like some seventeen years of waiting, it's all coming together, I'm finally at that focal point. I'm going to be amazing.  
-----


	7. Map of the Problematique

Author's Notes: This chapter took a bit longer to churn out as I had a bunch of random crap to take care of, so hopefully this will make up for it. It's the longest yet, at a ridiculously lengthy ten pages, but there was a lot to fit in there, so it's worth it. I managed to find time to finish this segment in between running about and listening to that stupidly addictive, catchy 'Snakes on a Plane (bring it)' song. I even considered christening this chapter after it, but that's just ludicrous. And the song is ZOMG pointless. Anyway, thanks again to those who reviewed, I really do appreciate it and yes, it really does help. Enjoy the chapter and PLEASE review, thank you!

Disclaimer: Blah blah blah Marvel and FOX blah blahblahblabhlabhlabhlabkabablablablrgrglsg.

"_But it's different now that I'm poor and ageing  
I'll never see this face again  
You'll go stabbing yourself in the neck_

_And we can find new ways of living make playing only logical harm  
And we can top the old times play making that nothing else will change_

_But she can read, she can read, she can read, she can read, she's bad."_  
-Interpol, 'Obstacle 1'

Chapter 7- 'Map of the Problematique'

My jaw hit the tiled floor. What I was looking at had to be the largest pool I'd ever witnessed first hand. Ever. It was enormous, I could have fit three of my old high school's pools in there easily, with room to spare. High school. Pool. It was at that recollection that I shrank back in horror, my eyes going wide with trepidation.

"Professor Munroe, I really don't think-"

She put a steadying hand on my arm, the rich color of her skin framed by the pallor of my own, rooting me to the spot as I listened to my heart hammering away in my ears, giving her words a bit of a techno remix quality as she spoke. "This isn't like the last time, Adrian. There is no anger here, nor is there anyone to goad you into acting as such. This is a place of peace, somewhere you might hone your skills, harness your gift. The Professor thought this might be the perfect place to begin your training."

The Professor must really get off on giving a good guilt trip then, because if this doesn't bring back memories, I don't know what does. I stand there silent for a moment before speaking, gazing into the depths of the pool. "We were just talking, Maggie and I, when they circled around us after fifth period. Jeffrey, he was this jackass who had a thing for her, him and his buddies, they decided to make their advance. They knew she felt nothing for him, they were just being juvenile, but somehow it got out of hand and one of them pulled out a knife to show off, waving it around like it was a goddamn candy cane. I got so angry, I was so scared that they were going to hurt her, and then- then I sort of blanked out. The next thing I can remember is the lot of us drenched in the principal's office and the police department questioning people."

My eyes fall to rest on my worn sneakers. I don't know why I've told her this, I've barely known her ten minutes and already I've divulged my darkest secret. This is something I haven't even told Logan or the Professor, for chrissakes, my very reason for fleeing my home and taking a crapshoot of a ride cross country in hopes that my life might become something better. That lone incident is the entirety of why I abandoned Adrian Mills Version 1.0 and settled for an upgrade, although at the moment it's looking slightly half-assed and rather panicked. Gentle, firm hands turn me about and I lift my gaze to meet her sturdier one, eyes locking.

"That must have been very traumatic for you, Adrian, and I am sorry. Yet you must understand that the very reason your training is so important is so that something like that will never happen to you again. By mastering your gift and learning control you'll not only be aiding yourself, but the others around you. You don't have to be afraid." She gives me a smile, soothing the memories into the back of my mind with the stern tranquility in her tone. "Now that we've gotten that out of the way, why don't we try and see what you can do with this, hm?" She motions to the pool before us and I grin, thankful for her support.

"You have an amazing gift, Adrian. Water is the very foundation of life, it creates and sustains, and it's molded much of the very world we live in today. Yet for all of that we should not seek to underestimate it, just as one does not turn his back to the ocean. Water can be a powerful force, it weakens and erodes with such a patience that it catches many by surprise. It can be a subtle stream or a squall fit to tear the seas apart, and it lies within us all. Concentrate, Adrian. Sense the water around you."

I allow her words to sink in for a moment, marveling as they saturate my mind with the calm power behind them. I close my eyes, breathing even and deep for a few minutes before focusing upon the liquid nearby, the most obvious source of which is the grand pool beside me. It almost appears stagnant to the naked eye, save the jets that filter water in and out, their small currents making themselves know to my person the further I look. I can feel the water flowing in the pipes, pressure shuttling it about the school to its various destinations. It's a familiar, comforting weight in my mind. And something else, something almost intangible lurking in the corner of my mind's eye. I try to grasp hold of it, but my attention falters and I snap my eyes open, the even gray-blue of my irises uniting with the clear chlorine body of water before me. Without warning I lift a hand, beckoning towards the swimming pool and, much to my surprise, the crest of a wave rises up to meet me, standing at my height, almost mimicking me in it's stance. A brief twist of my palm and I could make Michelangelo blush for now it is I who has become the master sculptor. The woman beside me lets out a small laugh, noticing herself in liquid form, proud head tilted upward, hands on her hips.

Slowly I let it sink back into the mass from whence it came before I make her shoot out into the air, flying about the vast room, my brow furrowed in concentration. It took so much thought to achieve this, the graceful arc of the water, the form of my floating mentor. Less than a minute later I set her back into the water, almost shaking with the effort, fully submerging her as her model smiled at me. "Well done Adrian, that's quite a display for having had such little usage of your powers previously. Are you up for any more?"

I nodded, shaking my head to clear it. For a moment all my hearing felt muffled, as if I'd stuck my head into the pool and had her shout at me. It was an interesting sensation, one likely brought on by my little effort back there, but there's no way I'm going to stop now. If anything, I'd rather attempt something more ostentatious, far more stupid and showy; I want to do the hot pink, sequins dress of my powers for the evening. "Professor, might I try something? I have an idea that pleases me."

Professor Munroe nods her permission and I sigh, gathering my thoughts. I kneel down and remove my sneakers, noting her puzzled expression as I do thus. With a small smile I stand and walk forward, teetering at the lip of the pool but a moment before stepping off and into the water. Or, rather, onto it. With mild fascination, I grin widely, throwing my arms out and leaping into the air. "Holy shit, I'm Jesus!"

Whether or not Professor Munroe hears the profanity and cares is completely beyond the point. I can walk on water. I can fucking dance on it and have it support me, doing little more than wetting the bottom of my feet. I feel like a god, I'm Poseidon with boobs. Nothing could kill this for me, this sweeping feeling of success that gives me a rush rivaling any spike to the vein. I want to show it to the world, shout it off the highest mountain, though at this rate the idea of creating a huge, stationary tidal wave and doing it off of there is more appealing. Thoughts rush through my mind at a breakneck pace; if I can do this, what other things can I control? I could make Bobby's water spill onto his pants if he starts talking too much again, paying Logan back for giving the professor giggle material on me would be a piece of cake, and getting Prometheus for mediocre conversation would be so simple it would feel like tying my own shoelaces.  
At this last thought though, my concentration falters. I can almost hear all three of the aforementioned laughing hysterically at me as I plunge into the pool, sinking in my clothing. Silently I curse them and will my mind to cooperate for me again, if for one last time this evening. Honestly, I was doing so well too. The water parts, giving me a clear path down the center of the pool to the nearest ladder, which I shuffle towards and climb exhaustedly; whatever euphoria I'd gained at the discovery of my abilities it appears I lost after my little swim session. Professor Munroe watches me as I stand, trying to conceal a small grin at my current state. "I guess Christianity's still pretty keen on the smiting business, then," I grumble, walking back over to my dry pair of shoes with an unamused expression planted on my face.

"You've done well for your first lesson Adrian, and I'm certain you will learn and benefit from your experiences. Curfew is at ten o'clock, you're welcome to do as you like until then. Goodnight." With that the Weather Witch leaves me in my state, exiting the room as gracefully as she entered it. Knowing that I'll be leaving it in a decidedly worse state I attempt to ring myself out, giving up after a few futile moments and settling for whatever ridicule I'm bound to face in the halls back up to the dorm. I pick up my shoes and leave the gym, too tired at the moment to really give too much thought to the whispers of a group of younger students coming back from the library. It's only when I see a familiar silhouette that I actually put any thought into my movements, hurrying along and narrowly avoiding slipping and falling on the hardwood floor. "Logan!"

The man in front of me turns and can do naught but raise an eyebrow at my presence. "You get into a fight with the damn fountain, kid?"

I chuckle despite myself. "Something like that. I just had my first lesson and I sort of lost control at the end. On the brighter side of the spectrum, though, I've learned that Jesus doesn't have shit on me, it's pretty cool."

"Not bad kid. Your first day here and you're already tearin' the place up." He seems to approve, something I'm quite happy with. Everyone else in here could damn me but this man was the one person I trusted enough to rely on, and if that doesn't mean everything than there's nothing but emptiness to be found in the world. "You should get some rest though," he adds, noting the fatigue that seems to have draped itself over my shoulders like an expensive mink coat, sans the elegance. And the dead animal. "You'll be training in my class tomorrow, and I'm not going to go easy on you."

I stifle a yawn. Good god, it's not even nine o'clock yet and I'm officially done for the evening, this is so lame. "I wouldn't expect you to, Chops, you're not exactly a pushover."

"I may be a lot of things, kid," he grins, "but that's definitely one thing I'm not. Goodnight, Mills."

"Night Logan, see you tomorrow." I turn back around with a small wave and a complimentary smile, heading up a staircase and making my way down the hall, soaked and somewhat lost. It wasn't until I felt someone take my arm and steer me that I found familiar ground. Looking to my left I was somewhat startled to find Kitty smiling back at me. Seeming to sense my utter befuddlement she looked up at me. "It's fairly easy to do this sort of thing when you can phase through most solid forms of matter."

Cue understanding. "Oh, yeah, I suppose that'd be pretty useful-" I pause as we walk through our door. Not through the doorway, as I've done every single door-crossing moment of my life, but directly through the wooden slab of a door and into the room. Needless to say I'm a little awed by the whole thing, speech failing me past the "Wow, thanks" bit. Recalling my sodden state as Kitty wipes her hands on her jeans, I pick up my backpack and go into the restroom, changing out of my cold, damp things as quickly as I'm able. I curse briefly when the scarf gets tangled around itself, forming a veritable noose around my neck but I weather through it and finally throw it off me, no longer caring whether the bruises were exposed or not; at this point the only thing I give a fuck about is sleeping for the next ten and a half hours. Preferably with as little interruption as possible. Noting the sudden burst of loud chatter within the room, though, I know I'll have no such luck. Taking a deep breath, I pick up my wet clothes off the floor and go out into the main room, awaiting my fate at the hands of a small girl in a yellow raincoat.

"Ah, there you are! How'd training with Storm go?" Jubilee hardly gives me a moment to clear the doorframe before the questions come erupting from her, bubbling out like so many soap suds from an over-loaded washer.

"Storm?" I blink in confusion, pausing momentarily in my gait to give her a quizzical look.

"All the teachers have them, they're code names for when they're the X-men or something," Kitty clarifies, earning a raised eyebrow from myself.

"The what?" I understand Professor Munroe's little nickname, it's rather cute considering her power, though it's still fucking ridiculous in my book. "What the hell is an X-man?"

"Geez, chica, you ever read the paper back in LA? I used to live out there, and I knew who they were. I used to watch them on the news in the mall," Jubilee tells me, putting some textbooks on her desk. "They're like super heroes, or something. I don't know, they're pretty secretive about what they do when they're in school."

"Logan never told ya?" Rogue draws my attention to where she sits on her bed, near the other side of the room. "He's one of 'em. Well, whenever he's around, if that says anythin'."

I frown in my puzzlement, going to drop my dirty laundry at the foot of my bed, into a hamper that someone must have put there whilst Bobby, Rogue and I traipsed about the campus. "Logan's a super hero? That's, well, um, I suppose that explains the bit about him saving you from that Magnet guy."

"Magneto," Jubilee corrects, taking off her jacket. "He never told you anything during the drive over? Well, then again, seeing his little alias, I can't say I would have mentioned it either."

Kitty snickers. "Doesn't it stand for 'skunk bear' or something?"

Rogue sends her a look that borders on dirty. "There's nothin' funny about a name like 'Wolverine' when ya see him put those claws a his to use, Kitty Pryde, and don't ya forget it. "

I eye the three of them almost suspiciously, in slight disbelief of the conversation going on around me. Logan, the rugged, gruff man in jeans and a leather jacket who had picked me up in an alleyway back in Los Angeles, a super hero? Some guy who ran about in spandex and a cape making the world a safer place? Helping old ladies cross the street and stopping bank robberies on routine? I wanted to laugh. This was simply beyond surreal. Then again, so was a school with a population consisting entirely of mutant youth. "You said his name is Wolverine?"

Rogue nodded. "It was the name _they_ gave him."

When she says that I need no explanation, I know the people she's talking about and it makes my hackles raise. Weapon X, the sick fucks who made him what he is, it's only fitting that they gave him some shitty nickname to go along with it. I'm almost surprised at the defensive jolt that goes through me, the undercurrent of fear present within it. Logan helped me when I had no one else, and I'll never forget that, nor shall I ever value someone so greatly as him. It's the same thing that got me into trouble with Maggie, the same overprotective surge that caused me to blow a hole in the wall of the gymnasium that fateful afternoon a week ago and I bite my cheek to keep myself in check. Control, "Storm" told me to remember control. "Sounds positively adorable," I mutter, sitting on my bed and grabbing a hairbrush from inside my backpack, brushing out the wet locks of brown hair while the others continued talking.

"You think his is funny, holy crap, they're all bad," Jubilee giggled. "Professor Summers is Cyclops-"

"Dr. Grey is Marvel Girl!" Kitty burst into laughter. "How can anyone say that seriously? I mean, really, that's the lamest one, it takes the cake. She sounds like a cartoon that should be on TV on Saturday mornings."

Rogue eyed them critically, though amused by their antics. "And ya think ya could do better for yourselves?" I stood, opening my backpack and getting my clothes out, putting them into my dresser along with the other meager possessions I'd taken with me. They continued on with their chatter as I pondered wearily how to let them know I was going to retire for the evening, not wanting to be the proverbial- and almost literal- wet blanket of the evening.

"Definitely!" The Asian girl took off her coat, throwing it on the back of her chair. "I'd just use my own name, it's pretty flashy as it is, and it'd sound damn cool."

Kitty pondered for a moment. "Yeah, I could think of something way less lame than Cyclops. I mean, god, just because he teaches us Literature doesn't mean he has to throw Homer in our faces every chance he gets. I think Shadowcat is pretty cool, don't you?"

"Sounds about as classy as Storm," Rogue chuckled, taking her shoes off. "Ah think ah'll stick with Rogue, if it suits all o' ya."

"You came in here with a damn super hero name, it's not fair," Kitty pouted with a rather feline stretch, arching her back. "What about you Adrian, got any cool X-Men names filed away and ready for use?"

I snorted, shutting a drawer and placing my now empty backpack down beside the dresser. "No, I can't say that I do. Saving the world hasn't really been on the top of my To-do list as of late."

"Ooo! We'll help you think of one!" Jubilee sprang into action, rubbing her chin like some sort of comical super genius. I didn't even want to think about which corny movie she was probably pantomiming, subconsciously or otherwise. "Hm… well, your power is water, right? So… er, well, Poseidon wouldn't work, you're a girl… um, Aqua? Aquarius?"

I let out a bark of laughter. "Might as well let Johnny Boy have his way then and name me Brita. If I get stuck with some stupid astrological sign as my name or I wind up sounding like a bad Danish pop band I'd better start considering suicide in order to save my family honor."

Kitty chortled. "Oh my god, we could call you Hose. Or Sprinkler! Rain?" She broke into outright laughter and I joined her, imagining the outrageous titles combined with a flamboyant costume and the theme music to the original, live-action _Batman_ TV show.

"That's fucking brilliant. You guys can call me up when you need your plants to be watered, and I'll come flying out of the sky with some dorky theme music playing, it'll be spectacular." I stopped for a moment, sitting on the edge of my new bed. "So, does everyone here want to become an X-man, or is it sort of some elite thing the teachers just get to prance around and do on their off-days?"

Rogue smiled at me and shrugged. "It's mainly just the teachers, though Piotr's helped them out a few times before when they've needed him. It's sort of an unspoken thing here though, a lotta kids here wanna do their part to help out."

Understandably so, considering the current political climate, the worldwide feeling towards our kind. We're the outcasts among outcasts, I'd imagine that lepers might have it better in terms of compassion and sympathy. It makes for interesting thought material as I find myself almost dozing off where I sit. I snap up, hearing Rogue address me again. "Ya should get some sleep, Adrian, you've probably had a really long day 'n all drivin' here and gettin' adjusted. We won't be far behind, so don't worry about it. Besides, tomorrow's yer first day at Mutant High, ya'll need all the rest ya can get."

I give my three roommates a tired, grateful smile, crawling under the covers. "Thanks, I really appreciate it. And it was awesome meeting you guys today, I really appreciate your kindness, introducing me to all your friends and showing me around, it really means a lot to me."

"Don't even worry about it chica," Jubilee assures me with a beaming grin. At this point I almost wonder if she ever sleeps, she seems to be perpetually wired. Drowsily I wonder what coffee she drinks.

"Yeah, seriously, you look beat, get some rest," Kitty agrees. "Goodnight, we'll wake you up tomorrow."

"All right, thanks you guys," I snuggle my head down into the pillow, pleased at how soft it is. This is the first real, true bed I've slept on in ages, and the response is immediate; I'm asleep before I can even tell them goodnight. Of course, it doesn't last long, or rather, not nearly long enough before I'm woken by someone shaking my shoulder lightly, telling me it's time to get up and shower for breakfast. Trying to rid myself of the stupor of sleep, I shuffle into the bathroom blearily and close the door, setting about getting myself ready, turning on the shower and stepping inside. I feel like a little kid again, getting shuttled off for my first day of school, even though I know that's complete bullshit. I'm going to be a senior next year, this stuff isn't totally beyond me. And yet I can feel the nervous awareness prickling me into attentiveness as I step out of the shower, the warm water having soothed my limbs into a more mobile state. Toweling dry, I wrap the cloth around my body and open the door, almost getting barreled over by Jubilee who rushes in to use the mirror.

"Sorry chica, I need to put my face on! I'll only be a little while."

"Pfft, she says that every morning," Kitty grumbles, shrugging on a pastel colored tee shirt. "And every morning we're proven that she's lying. Hurry up, Jubes! Some other people have to use the mirror too!"

Now this, this is high school. Girls fighting over the mirror space, reassuring one another that, yes, their outfits are to die for and no, that pair of shoes really doesn't compliment the ensemble. It's so familiar I'm almost thrown for a moment as I change into my clothes quickly, throwing on the pair of worn jeans from yesterday and a random, gray tee shirt. Rummaging through the drawer I find another scarf, an opposing black and white pattern, and swiftly wrap it around my neck. Granted, if they saw my markings last night I'm sure one of them, namely Jubilee, might have mentioned something, but I'm really not in the mood to explain myself for the four hundredth instance and it appears that I have little time to do so, brushing my hair out again, throwing it up into a clip while I stuff my feet into socks and shoes. We're a quartette of haste, the other three girls grabbing their textbooks while I barely have enough sense to pocket a pen and run down the hall with them towards the dining area. It's moments before we're in line, grabbing what we want to eat frantically and seating ourselves at the table from yesterday evening, Bobby and Piotr giving a cordial greeting while John mutters something resembling a "good morning" as he drowns himself in caffeine, clicking his lighter irritably.

"So, what time do classes start?" I ask with a bit of hesitation, watching as the three girls dig into their breakfasts with little time wasted. I feel almost as though I've stepped into an eating contest of sorts.

"Eight thirty, we've got about ten minutes before lectures," Bobby informs me with a perky grin. I want to tell him to defect to become a cheerleader, but my rational takes hold before I let the offensive suggestion tumble out of my mouth. Instead I take to spreading strawberry jelly on the piece of toast I've grabbed and surveying the room. It isn't until I feel Kitty nudge me on the shoulder that I realize I've spaced out. "Pardon me?"

"I was curious as to what your first class of the day was," Piotr repeated with a patient smile.

Awesome, the Jolly Russian Giant, my gorgeous David, thinks I'm slow. Pulling the schedule out of the back of my jeans, I examine it. "Science with Dr. Grey, apparently."

"Ah, excellent. Perhaps you might allow me to escort you there then?" Mayhap the Jolly Russian Giant thinks more of me, his accent rather inviting and his tonality congenial. Pleased for any excuse to spend any extra time with my real-life Michelangelo sculpture I nod. But before I can respond with a proper bit of thanks a voice cuts me off.

"Christ Piotr, you talk like you picked your English up reading Harlequin Romance novels," John mutters crossly, draining the rest of his coffee.

"John," Kitty speaks up, rolling her eyes, "the fact that you even know what those things are is just beyond sad. Do us all a favor and stop talking until you get your caffeine buzz, you'll thank me for it later."

I hid my amusement inside a glass of water, not wanting to appear too rude so early in the morning. Jubilee was far less subtle as she high-fived her friend across the table. Taking a bite out of my toast, I hummed along to myself, looking about the room at all the students. Despite his supposedly favored morning hours, there wasn't a glimpse of Logan to be had and I frowned slightly. Part of me was almost hoping he'd be there to wish me good luck or something, trivial as I know it sounds. While I'm sure it's beyond obvious, I'm still sort of surprised at just how attached to him I've become. And then, before I have time to sink too deeply into my thoughts, it's time for class. Nearly choking on my toast I brush myself off, walking with Piotr towards the door.

"Are you all right?" He asks, giving me an almost puzzled look as I thump my chest, nodding.

"Yeah, just crumbs getting lodged in places they shouldn't," I reassure him. Not that a person like Piotr really needs reassurance of any sort, let me make that understood. The man is built like a brick wall reinforced with titanium. We walk along in silence, the other students milling about like so many little mutant bees in a hive, scurrying to classes. There can't be more than a hundred students here, I realize, rather surprised at the small amount. Then again, it's to be expected when one's former graduating class was almost three thousand strong. I glace up at Piotr, towering over all as he walks, looking ever the solemn, sturdy guardian. Stopping by a room, he holds the door open for me and I hurry through, thanking him for his kindness. Finding two empty desks beside one another we sit down. A few other students shuffled in and I was almost awe-struck by how small the class size was bound to be, noting the handful of desks and chairs in the room. "Piotr? Do you have any paper I might be able to borrow for notes?"

Silent, he inclines his head, tearing a few pages out of his notebook. With a small smile he hands them to me and I glance at the first, little doodles outlining it rather jovially, caricatures being the main feature. I giggle at the sight of an ice-cube with arms and legs, aptly titled "Bobby". Watching my eyes wander, he realizes his error and snatches the paper back, handing me a clean sheet.

He hath only whetted my curiosity. "Those are pretty awesome; do you work in any other mediums?"

He seems surprised to hear this question and affirms. "I paint as well, oil and pastels, charcoal, anything I can get my hands on, really. I find it soothing, almost cathartic."

Now it's my turn to be surprised; David, ever the pupil, is now the artistic master. "That's fantastic; you've got a lot of talent, even in those little sketches. I hope you continue on with it, it suits you." Maggie was an artist, though of the more modern sort. I used to stay after school with her and watch her finish projects in the musty old art classroom, humming along in the lazy sunshine that filtered in through the windows. She was able to appreciate the more classic genera's as well, though, and therein I gained my own appreciation. Piotr was reminiscent of so much of that, in such a pure, unmarred form. It was exciting, not only for his aptitude, but for the realization that our mutations did not wholly define us as individuals. And while this might seem like a fairly easy thing to rationalize to others, I'm still coming to terms with all of this, the fact that, regardless of what I do, I'll have a label stuck to me the rest of my life. In Piotr I see the hope of us all becoming something more than just "mutants", and for this moment, he's my brief, shining glimpse of the future.

Naturally, of course, Dr. Grey takes this time to interrupt my epiphany and hand me my textbook. And the way the class goes onward for the next hour and a half, the entire thing feels like one long, arduous interruption. When we pack up our things I catch Piotr's eye, giving him a look. "That was horrifying."

He chuckles, hiding his grin as we exit. "It's, ah, it takes a bit to adjust to. Dr. Grey is not-"

"In the least bit interesting? Because honestly Piotr, that's the most boring discussion I've ever sat through in my entire life. She could have had us watching Roman Gladiators and it still would have been banal." And all I have to show for it is five pages of notes and a textbook that weighs more than my ass. "Where are you off to next?"

"Philosophy. You?"

"English. Thanks for showing me around, Piotr, I'll see you at lunch!" I wave him off and set about my search for the English classroom. Ten minutes later, the halls deserted save myself, I'm still looking for it. As an afterthought, perhaps instead of watching The Jolly Russian Giant's butt next time I'll ask him where the hell to go. There's a door to my right and, praying it to be the correct classroom, I open it. I know my prayers to be in vain, though, when I open it and find myself staring down a few brooms and a mop. Sighing in frustration, I walk down the hall a bit more, finding another door and opening it hesitantly, peeking inside.

"Miss Mills, you're late."

Shit.

Accepting my fate as the perpetual "new kid", I walk into the room and shut the door, finding a seat near the back of the small classroom. "I'm sorry sir, I got lost trying to find the room. I didn't mean to interrupt." And isn't that the truth, everyone in the room is gawking at me. I see Bobby up near the front, which is entirely expected, and Rogue beside him. Hearing a breath of laughter, I turn my head and see John. I have the distinct feeling that my face now resembles a very large, angry tomato.

"Miss Mills, I'm not sure if you've read any work by Joseph Campbell yet, but perhaps you'd care to tell us about the Hero's Quest?" He commands the classroom in khaki slacks and a turtle neck from beside a white board, odd bits of literary jargon written over it in precise, calculated lettering. He looks like an L.L. Bean catalogue with shades. I can see why Logan hates this guy, as he hasn't exactly come prancing over to my good side yet either. Nodding, I begin.

"The notion of the archetypal hero was coined by Joseph Campbell and Carl Jung, both of whom began comparing world mythologies and stories. In doing so they found that there were many similar themes that coincided, a time of events, so to speak, in the hero's life that arch with the story line. The circumstances of the hero's birth are often unusual and they usually leave their family to live with others. A catalyst of sorts occurs, typically a tragedy, and they go on a quest where they're likely to encounter supernatural help and find some sort of a weapon in order to aid themselves. The hero proves himself many times on his quest and-"

"Well done, Adrian, you'll be up to speed on this course in no time at all," Professor Summers interrupts, a pleased expression on his face. Well, fluffing my ego never hurt either. "Perhaps you'd be so kind as to lend your attentions to other students here who could use some… assistance." John snorts and I don't have to turn my head to know that he's being inadvertently addressed. Summers is out of his fucking Calvin Kline little mind if he thinks I'm spending more time with that lighter-clicking douche bag then I have to. "We're currently reading _Beowulf _and you'll all be working in small groups to complete assignments. Adrian, you can join John and Beatrice for the remainder of this unit." And with that he set us to our work, students pulling their desks into little trios, about four groups present in all. As I pushed mine towards John and Beatrice, a quiet girl who looked a year or so younger with short-cropped blond hair, I hoped that this unit only lasted until the end of class, at the latest.

It appeared John shared my sentiment. "This is bullshit."

"Pipe down, Prometheus, a little bit of old, Danish lyrical poetry isn't going to kill you," I grumbled, taking out a spare piece of paper from the stack Piotr had given me, intent upon meeting expectations. "Have either of you read the material?"

Beatrice nodded while John gave me a look that suggested I get my head examined. "Awesome. What part are we at? I read over it a while back when I was in middle school, so I should probably brush up on it."

"Great, you two can do all the brushing up you want, this is the lamest piece of crap I've ever read," John clicked his lighter shut with emphasis. Beatrice looked uncertain, feeling the tension within the group and I glared up from my paper.

"I sincerely hope, St. John," I said evenly, "that you intend upon completing your share of work while we're all together."

He smirked, sending me a cocky look. "And if I don't?"

"You'll be drinking toilet water for the next week, and don't think I won't manage it." Somehow I managed to bite back the "asshole" that wanted to attach itself to the end of my sentence, a small mercy indeed. This guy really knew how to push buttons.

His smirk disappeared. "You know, I'm pretty sick of your shit."

I leaned back in my chair, looking him over with a cool gaze. The coals of his eyes burned back at me as I spoke. "Then we have something we can agree on. I don't like having to deal with other people's inane crap, John, especially when it affects me. I'm not asking-"

"You're damn right you're not," he cut in angrily. "I don't like being ordered around, Mills, especially not by fucking holier-than-thou newbies who feel like they've gotta suck up to the professors."

Beatrice looked like she was going to cry at this point, but I couldn't help myself. I leaned forward over my desk, eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me, sweet cheeks. Now shut up and-"

A figure loomed over us and it was then that I realized myself. Professor Summers stood beside our desks, displeasure written upon his face just as discernibly and deliberately as the notes on the board. "John, Adrian, the Professor will be expecting you."

Mortification shot through me. The Professor. The Principal. I was being sent off to the principal's office like a naughty elementary school student. I must have the worst luck in the history of mankind. Grabbing my papers I nodded, apologizing softly for my rudeness. Keeping my head at an even level I stood, avoiding the eyes of Bobby and Rogue, walking swiftly to the door and out into the hallway. John was right behind me. My first day of school and I fucked it up, and I have some lighter-clicking jackass to thank for it. We glare at one another and continue silently down the hall.

-----


	8. You Only Live Once

Author's Notes: My apologies for this chapter having taken so long to get up here, I had a lot of stuff to do last week and as a result quite little was written. I finally managed to close the chapter off (albeit, not very gracefully) last night sometime, so I figured it'd be best to get this thing up stat. Thanks again to everyone who's reviewed, the feedback really helps me out and I can't thank you enough. Please remember to do thus again at the end of this chapter as well, thank you! Enjoy.

Disclaimer: See every other chapter written for more "holy mother of god, don't sue me I claim no ownership infringement!1" stuff.

"_I jumped in the river and what did I see?  
Black-eyed angels swam with me.  
A moon full of stars and astral cars,  
All the things I used to see.  
All my lovers were there with me,  
All my past and futures.  
And we all went to heaven in a little row boat,  
There was nothing to fear and nothing to doubt."_

-Radiohead, 'Pyramid Song'

Chapter 8- "You Only Live Once"

John's got a talent for setting shit on fire, that I must admit, fury burning through my veins. I was so angry with him I wanted to smash his face into the wall. I entertained the notion for a little while as we walked toward Professor Xavier's office, but my broken ribs and the fact that the man we were going to see was the world's greatest telepath had me at a disadvantage. And then there was the lighter, that damnable, wretched lighter John kept clicking. I wanted to slap him, more so than yesterday, in fact. I wanted to slap him, then throw him into the nearest wall and chuck his lighter into a beehive. I was so close to back-handing the sneer off of those full, pouty lips that I-

Whoa, back up. When the hell did a jackass like St. John Allerdyce get adjectives like _that_ assigned to his body parts? I pushed it into the back of my mind, ignoring it for the time being as we neared the Professor's door. Right now I don't need a handful of stupid thoughts irritating me, I have to suck up my pride and get ready to kiss and make up in front of a man I'd rather my reputation were never tarnished in front of. Fucking John, this is all his fault. And Xavier can probably hear all of this. Great. I really need a cigarette.

"Come in." It rings out in the silence before either of us have a chance to knock. We exchange looks, his burning with distaste while my own is cold and challenging as we open the door and enter the room. The Professor is sitting behind his desk, hands steeped upon the polished hardwood surface as he regards us, motioning for the both of us to sit before him. I lower myself onto the chair, back straight and at attention. I know what happens with conversations like this, I've had them plenty of times before. Play nice, don't take his ball without asking, don't pull her pigtails, don't be a disruption, etc., etc. and from most other folk I'd take this with a roll of my eyes. But this is going to come from a man who's responsible for my training as a mutant and, as a result, I'm rather humbled and ashamed of myself. If it hadn't been for Charles Xavier sending Logan out to Los Angeles to find me I'd surely be lost by now, and with this knowledge I find it rather hard to meet the eyes of the wheelchair-bound professor. A moment later he speaks, commanding my attention.

"Mutants, like all creatures, don't always get along with one another. If you'd like a sterling example of that I might suggest watching Professor Summers and Logan argue over who gets the last steak at dinner, but that's rather beside the point." He pauses for a moment, giving each of us a discerning look. "While we cannot expect either of you to become close, personal friends I do expect both of you to treat one another with some sense of civility, especially within the classroom. What you do with your own intellects withstanding, I won't have you disrupting the educations of other students. Do I make myself clear?"

I give a simple incline with my head while John replies with a short "Crystal." I fight the urge to roll my eyes at him and the Professor smiles slightly.

"Now, as I'm sure you're well aware, Scott expects me to give you each some form of punishment to ensure that neither of you will continue your previous display of behavior in his classroom, and I think I have just the thing in mind." Said the spider to the fly. He smiles warmly and John and I exchange uneasy glances. "You'll both be meeting in the foyer at nine o'clock, please be punctual. Now, if you'll excuse me I have a rather important call to take. Good day." And with that, he released us into the hall again.

We'd not cleared the door by five feet when I made a bee-line for the dorms. "Fuck this, I need a cigarette." I stopped when I realized John wasn't following me. Turning around, I addressed him. "Please don't tell me that you actually carry that fucking lighter around and you don't smoke, that's just sad."

I was met with a glare. "Don't flatter yourself, Mills. Hurry up."

This time I did roll my eyes, sprinting upstairs and dashing into my room, trying to be mindful of my injuries. Rummaging through a pocket on my backpack, I found my pack of cigarettes and some of the Advil from earlier in the week. Ingesting the former I made my way back downstairs, leaping down the last few steps and landing neatly next to John. Wordlessly he led the way outside and we stopped, standing off to the side of the school, in the shade of the ivy-covered building. My first day at Mutant High and I've just come back from getting detention with the resident asshat, and now we're both out behind the school smoking and ditching class. The irony of it chuffs me as I hand him a cigarette wordlessly, chuckling as I put my own between my lips. In a flash John's there with his lighter, that telltale orange glow springing forth from it for the first time before my eyes. There's a moment where our eyes meet over the flame, while I'm lighting the end of my cigarette with it, and I can see the fire in his eyes. It'd be unnerving if it weren't so damn fascinating, yellow flames licking up along the dark pooling brown, the inky black of the pupils. Pulling back, I blow out a steady stream of smoke as I watch him light his own, flicking the lighter shut and depositing it safely within a pocket. We smoke in silence for a little while before I speak.

"You're not such a pain in the ass when you're smoking, you should do it more often," I let a few smoke rings out his way for added effect, smiling softly. It's eleven o'clock in the morning and the sun is shining bright above, it's the outlook of a perfect day on Earth and yet still all either of us can do is squint up at the light and move further into the shade.

"Speak for yourself, Mills. Cigarettes seem to keep you from trying too hard, which is refreshing," he counters, taking a drag, blowing the smoke out of his mouth lazily.

Rather than take his bait, a thought comes to mind. "Do you feel closer to the fire when you do it?" After I blurt it out I feel like an idiot. I mean, seriously, what sort of an asinine question is that? Needless to say the sincerity of his response catches me off guard.

"Yeah, actually, it sort of does." He inhales again, eyes on the glowing tip as he exhales. "I can feel it there in front of me, and it's the closest I'll ever get to having it within me when I inhale. Well, unless I take up fire-breathing," he grins wryly. "I can withstand most of it, the heat and the flames. It's great."

I nod in understanding, observing. "You seem to have a really close relationship with it."

"It's kind of hard for me not to, you know, seeing that I can control it and everything." And the sarcasm reigns supreme once again. There was a moment, one brief, shimmering instance when we were both open and level with one another, and it was surprisingly gratifying. Now the walls are back in place and we smoke with guarded expressions beside the ivy. I have to wonder if it'll ever happen again.

I shrug. "I'm not that insane about water. I mean, I have to sort of tap into it, it's like turning on a faucet." Okay, that was lame, but he seems to get the general meaning behind it, nodding as he takes another drag and drops the cigarette butt to the ground, crushing it beneath the heel of his trainers.

"That's your problem; you're too afraid to give yourself to it, to really immerse yourself in it. You see, me," he grins, "I'm not hesitant with the fire, I know my limitations, what I can and can't do, how much I can take before I fuck it up. But you, you're too green for it, you're too scared you're going to screw up and do something stupid and that's where you lose it. If you got your panties out of that twist, you'd probably have a lot more fun." And with that St. John Allerdyce leaves me standing, dumbfounded by his clarity with a cigarette butt between two fingers and my mouth ajar, watching him as he saunter's off to head back inside. Flustered, I glower at his receding form, deciding that he's still a giant pain in the ass, even when he is smoking.

Twenty minutes of meandering later and I'm back inside, heading into the dining room for lunch. My mind flickers back to John's words but I manage to hold them at bay, to keep them from riling me up. Snappy bastard, and he accused me of being a pretentious know-it-all. What the fuck makes him so sure-

All right, so I'm _trying_ to keep it out of my head, it's a learning process. There aren't a lot of people inside the dining hall yet, classes having barely been let out so early in the day, but I get in line anyway, grabbing some food to munch on, though truth be told I'm not very hungry.

"You gonna just stand there and stare at it or are you going to take it?" a gruff voice asks from behind me. "Some of us missed breakfast."

I turn and grin sheepishly, making way for Logan to get by. "Sorry, I forgot what I was doing."

We fill our plates in silence and grab drinks, going to sit at one of the spare, small tables off to the side. I'm almost surprised that he isn't sitting at the professor's table, but something that segregated isn't really Logan's style; he sits where he pleases, with whom he chooses to share his company. This afternoon it appears that I'm the lucky recipient, I almost want to ask him if this all comes with a washer dryer set ala some 1970's game show. He digs into his food almost immediately, pausing for a moment to take a swig of water. "Why aren't you in class?"

I look down at my sandwich and spinach salad, fork pushing it aimlessly about my plate. Clearly, I'm never going to get a break. "I got kicked out of Professor Summers' class for arguing with John."

Logan let out a bark of laughter. "He the punk with the lighter?"

I sighed, relieved he wasn't angry. "Yeah, him. He was being a dick so I gave him a verbal sock in the face and then he got all pissy with me about it. Needless to say, Professor Summers wasn't too thrilled to find us on the verge of shouting at one another when we were supposed to be discussing the symbolism of Grendel within _Beowulf_ by means of Campbell's theories."

"Can't imagine he would have been. Scotty really needs to lay off the hero epics, this is the third one he's done this semester," Logan grumbles wryly, polishing off his steak sandwich. I momentarily entertained the notion of the school purchasing an entire herd of cattle to be used purely for Logan's carnivorous eating habits.

"Has he really? That sounds fucking awful. I mean, granted, it's an important part in literature, but there's other ground to cover as well, he needn't make the class so obscenely dull."

Logan grinned sardonically. "Well, he's not exactly known for being the most exciting man on the team."

I frowned, munching thoughtfully on a piece of lettuce. "The X-Men, you mean?" This was the first time I'd heard him even mention the name, let alone hinting at his affiliation to it. Curiosity rose unbidden and I watched him carefully from my observational standpoint.

But Logan, of course, knows when he's being sized up. "Yeah. Don't you worry about any of that though, you just concentrate on getting through the rest of the day and getting situated around here, all right? I'll see you in class." And with that he picked himself up and left. I sighed, knowing that, somewhere along my querying, I'd touched a nerve. It bothered me, knowing that I'd upset him somehow. He's probably the only person here, with the exception of the omnipotent Professor, that I really want the approval of and what progress I try to make always seems to backfire directly in my face. I took a deep breath. Control, just like Professor Munroe had told me. One doesn't simply gain the trust of a man like Logan after a few days in his company. These things would take time, and I needed to be able to understand that and accept it for what it was.

Sort of like how I needed to understand the impatient tapping on my shoulder and approve the gaping Asian girl beside me. "Jubilee, what's up?"

"Ohmygod, did you really get kicked out of Summers' class today!"

Apparently news travels fast in small schools. Who knew? "Yes, I did."

She grinned. "That's wicked cool! What happened? Bobby mentioned something about you and John. Did you guys duke it out or something?" She took Logan's vacated seat and propped her elbows up on the tabletop, her attention focused solely upon me. Ah, to be the fixation of gossip.

"No, Jubilee, we didn't fight it out the drunken Irish way, though I'd have loved to see Summers' expression if we had," the thought was an amusing one and I let out a laugh. I was definitely biased in Logan's favor. "No, I'd like to retain my welcome here. We were just arguing and Professor Summers' found it inappropriate, so he sent us to the headmaster's office." Put in such base terms, Jubilee deflated slightly.

"Aw man, I was kind of hoping something exciting had gone down. It's weird, you know, I was used to stuff like that happening all the time back at my old school, now everything gets so dull sometimes and there's nothing to stir it up." She actually looked disheartened, genuinely so. I felt badly for her. While she was undoubtedly one of the happiest people I'd ever seen, sans narcotics, she obviously missed parts of her life before mutanthood had descended and taken her under its wing. Christ, didn't we all? Jubilee though, if anything, is indomitable in her spirit, and this is something I've been sure to note over the last day. Not a minute later and she's wearing her trademark smile, all mischief and gossip.

"At least you gave him a good talking to, yeah? I've been waiting for someone to come around and put him in his place, hopefully I'll be there to see it happen sometime," she seemed almost giddy with the prospect and I couldn't help but laugh.

"Well, we both got schooled by the Professor, and we'll be serving detention at nine tonight, but I don't know…" I trailed off. There was no real victor in our last few encounters, Summers having broken up the first before it really escalated into anything and the last was more of a civil conversation than anything hostile, something that continues to amaze me even an hour later.

"I'm really not surprised you two are constantly at each other's throats, you know?" Jubilee stated, leaning back in her chair. "You two have a lot of conflicting personality traits, and well, come on, it's fire vs. water, it's almost expected that you guys are going to be going after one another each chance you get."

"True," I took a bite of my sandwich. "It's pretty standard in that arch nemesis sense, I'd imagine."

"What's really interesting is- shit, we have like, five minutes to get to class!" Jubilee gaped at the clock and shot up from her seat. I followed her, almost dropping my tray in my hurry. Next class, what was my next class?

"You're in History with Kitty and I, come on or we'll be late!" Jubilee called over her shoulder. With a small start I almost wondered if the girl had any latent telepathic abilities, following her quickly out of the dining room and down the hall to another classroom.

History went on well enough, I gained another weighty text book from Professor Munroe and more notes than I knew what to do with. We were going over the American Revolutionary period, which was simple enough, and apparently there was a test to be had next class. Shaking my head slightly as I walked out, I noted that this school really put a whole new meaning to the phrase "hit the ground running", I'd barely had time to breathe since I'd gotten here.

_"Oh, the sky is not the limit and you're never gonna guess what is."_

I sang the line quietly to myself amidst the throng of students, pulling out my schedule, eyes scanning over it quickly as I walked down the hallway. Logan, shit, that's right, I have his self defense class next. I frown, wondering what the hell I'm going to do in there with a chest full of broken ribs. Hopefully more than cheerleading duties, I'm really not one for all of that sidelines bullshit.

"Boo."

Directly in my ear. I spin around, almost falling as I come face to face with a heartily laughing Rogue and Bobby. Scowling, I try to look dignified. "We have class and all you two can do is spook me in the hallways? Bobby, I thought you were supposed to be some sort of a model student."

Bobby stopped laughing long enough to try and put up a fight to my accusations, but Rogue beat him to it, calming herself. "We were walkin' along when we saw ya and realized ya probably didn't know the way down to the Danger Room."

I cocked a brow. "The 'Danger Room'? Sounds like some kinky bondage suite, what the hell are we going in there for?"

"God, you and John really have a similar way of wording things," Bobby observed, oblivious to the decidedly cool look I gave him in response. He controlled ice, but that didn't mean I couldn't give him a rude wake up call the next morning. "The Danger Room is a training room, the X-Men use it and older students enrolled in Logan's self defense class are allowed to train in it as well. It's on the lower level, though, so a lot of people have trouble finding it."

I gave them a nod. "All right, fair game. Let's get down there soon, though. Logan gets on my ass enough as it is about waking up late, I don't want to hear him rabbiting on about my tardiness on the first day of class."

Rogue gave me a sympathetic look and I followed them to an elevator, something that looked exceedingly out of place in so fine a mansion. Hell, electricity looked foreign here, the building seemed to be perpetually 19th century, even 18th century insofar as I could surmise. I bit my lip as I felt that familiar sinking sensation, the elevator taking us down into the subterranean area bellow the school. It opened and we followed a sterile corridor until we reached its end, passing a few doors on the way. This entire area seemed so alien, like we'd been transported to some other location far, far away from Charles Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters in Westchester, New York. I felt like I should be below the fucking Pentagon. "This place is a trip, I don't think I'll ever get used to it."

Bobby laughed. "You say that now, just wait a few weeks, you'll know the school inside and out like the back of your hand. Ah, here we are-" he pressed a button and a door slid aside revealing what had to be the largest single enclosed space I'd ever set eyes on. Come to think of it, there were a lot of things at the mansion that seemed to have been super-sized. Part of me wondered what the Professor was trying to compensate for. It was then, of course, that I recalled that the man was a telepath.

In the small likelihood that humans and mutants alike were wondering as to my state of intelligence, I'm still a fucking moron.

"'Bout time you three showed up, even Matchstick over here managed to make it on time," a gruff voice called out to us from the center of the vast space where about nine other students were located. Even from over here it wasn't hard to see John's cocky smirk.

"Sorry sir," Bobby called out as we jogged across the open space towards the others. "Adrian didn't know where the class was, we wanted to make sure she got here all right."

"That's chivalrous of you, kid, now line up with the others." We joined the students, our things placed a few feet behind us. I find myself standing beside Piotr. Beatrice is two people away to my left. Biting the inside of my cheek, I avoid looking at her.

"The first thing I want to clear up is that this is _not_ a training camp to get into the X-Men, have I made myself understood? If Chuck wants any of you on the team he'll contact you after you've graduated." Those hazel eyes of his cut into you when he's got them narrowed like that, sizing everyone up, they don't even soften when his gaze goes over Rogue or myself. "I'm going to teach you how to protect yourselves. Later on we may work with your abilities, depending on what Chuck incorporates into the lesson, but for now it's all physical. Do any of you have injuries that won't allow you to participate, aside from Mills?"

When no one raises their hands I try to maintain a veneer of detachment, focusing solely on Logan as all but two send looks my way. That duo is probably Rogue and Kitty, they're the only ones I've really told about my ribs, keeping the details of L.A. quiet. It appears I'll be the only one sitting out these next couple of weeks and I almost wonder if I shouldn't transfer to another class. After all, what good will it do me if I can hardly move without feeling the pain, I'm certainly not going to be doing any round-house kicks in this shape. But then Logan starts giving examples and I move back from the rest of them, awed by his poise. The man, even in sweatpants and a tee shirt, is more graceful than any dancer, demonstrating martial arts to our small class. Admitantly, the moves aren't overly complicated, after all, it's only the first lesson, but they're enough to amaze us all into a sort of stunned silence. He teaches them for the next hour and a half as I watch, seated next to my things. Grabbing a towel from off the floor nearby, he stops.

"Remember to buy some workout clothes for the next class, you can't be expected to learn any of this well in a pair of jeans. And none of that crap I've seen you walkin' around in, Jubilee; if you want a position in that line of work get it outside of my class. We're done for today." And with those gloriously insightful words he released us to the locker rooms. I stayed back, seeing no need to shower yet again that day, as I hadn't done anything to warrant it.

"I don't really see the point of being here right now, I can't do anything," I said, standing with a grimace.

Logan turned, draping the towel over his shoulder. "You can still help yourself out kid, even if you are hurt. You'll need to watch what I'm teachin' 'em, get it into your head so that you don't fall behind. As long as you've got your goal in mind the rest of it should follow through with practice."

"If I could learn how to defend myself though visualization I'd be a black belt by now from all the kung-fu movies I've watched," I muttered, still feeling somewhat ill-tempered. Realizing my dick comment I tried again, soothing it over. "You did well for your first day teaching, they're going to gain a lot from you."

"Thanks, kid. Mills," he corrects himself, smiling slightly. "And don't be so damn pessimistic about this all the time, I can teach you a lot 'bout takin' care of yourself. We can make sure this never happens to you again."

He never gestured to me or made any sort of physical indication, but I know of what he speaks. The bruises fading around my neck and torso, the broken bones in my chest. The memories of being throttled against a brick wall in an alley way and having my cheek pressed against pavement as shoes railed upon my sensitive flesh speak louder than any words known to men. Together, he seems to say, we can stop Los Angeles from reoccurring. It's a notion I'm quite keen on. "The moment my ribs heal you know that I'll be back in class in a heartbeat. I'll follow your suggestion, watch the others practice and do what I can on my own to grasp the rest. Thanks, for everything. I really can't express my gratitude to you."

He shakes his head, starting off toward the exit. "Don't worry about it, kid."

"I have a name you hairy, oafish Canadian," I grumble as he heads out the door. Christ, I should probably give up hope on him ever actually remembering that. But I'm not stupid, I know it's not an issue of memory or convenience; things like this distance one person from another, they keep that safe barrier of impersonality to a relationship, keeping people at arms length. Ah, the loner stereotype, I feel like a scientist on a field expedition.

"Fun lesson, huh?" Bobby stands beside me, hair wet from the shower he undoubtedly just took.

"It looked like it," I reply, snapping out of my train of thought. "What time is it, anyway? It can't be after two yet."

"Time to head off to class, probably. You have ethics and Philosophy next, right?" The fact that everyone I know has a better grasp of my own schedule is pretty pathetic, but I pull it out and take a look anyway. Icebox is right on.

"Apparently so. I'm surprised the Professor actually teaches. I mean, well, I suppose there's a reason for his title, that's obvious enough, but it seems like he has so much to do, it's hard to imagine him having time to lecture on in front of a class full of students."

Bobby gives me one of those winning, toothy smiles every dentist would love. "You'd be amazed at what Professor Xavier _does_ have time for." Well, the man has time to give me detention on my first day of school. Score one for Icebox.

"C'mon y'all, we'll be late for class!" Rogue rushes toward us. Picking up our things, we make for the exit and snap-dash to the elevator. A short ride up and we're off down the hall and into another class room. I've never been one for spiritual studies of any sort, so things such as philosophy and ethics seem a little useless to me. I'm all for other people dedicating their lives to it, but if I have to sit through a serious lesson on Descartes I might just slap myself, he had shitty ideals as it was. Thankfully, though, the Professor spared us all the trivialities and actually gave us some food for thought. It wasn't unexpected, but it was certainly a nice change of tactic from the expected hum-drum of bullshit.

And then, rather abruptly it seems, as I was beyond lost in the steady calm of the Professor's voice, class is over and I'm looking for seclusion. And somehow I've still managed to collect an armful of notes, this is insane. It's that very thing, I realize as I go back outside to the little alcove Prometheus and I hid out in earlier, that causes me to duck out of sight. I've only been here a day and already I'm turning reclusive, yet I've my reasons, as we're all bound to. Time, great Chronos is my foe in this battle of dawning comprehension, in which my present reality hits me like the proverbial ton of bricks and sets me scrambling with eager hands for my cigarette pack. I've only been here a day. The sheer magnitude of my current surroundings is enough to plummet me through the earth and back out somewhere in China. Fumbling with a cheap lighter in my pocket, part of me curses inwardly, wondering how in the hell all of this has even happened and why St. John isn't here with his Zippo being useful. I'm a leper in a circus of freaks, I note wryly, finally managing to get the flame to catch at the tip of my Camel, I can barely use my own powers to any vast extent. Even without the sheer willpower and concentration required, something I'm sure Professor Munroe will assure me is a fucking cakewalk the next time we meet, I'm too guarded, too edgy with it. It's almost as though there's something lurking, dark and strange, in the corner of my vision, though the moment I turn to glimpse their face they disappear into the night. There's something else buried and locked within the silly antics and built-in Super-Soaker abilities and, like any sane human- mutant- being, it scares the piss out of me.

Maybe this is what it feels like to be Rogue, to be Logan, hell, even Professor "I really do have a poleax rammed up my sphincter and yes this totally explains why I'm such an insufferable jackass to everyone" Summers. It seems like everyone here has a fucking chip on their shoulder, something to make the innocence that should radiate from their youthful beings seem diminished and subdued. Goodness knows it's rude to presume, but I've never been known solely for the merit of my polite conversation and pleasantries. Saying this isn't fair would be the obvious answer, and also the understatement of the century, but it still pops up in my head as I take a leisurely drag off the filter, watching as little smoking donuts come popping out of my mouth. I'm the worst faux-cook ever, even my smoke rings have taken the toll of my uneasy thoughts.

"_He whistles and he runs…"_

The song comes without thought, easily rolling off my tongue as I enjoy my seclusion. In a place like this, especially with three girls as one's roommates, it can be understood without any fear of misinterpretation that the word "privacy" is a relative term. Among teenagers it varies from reading over your friend's shoulder whilst you stand obviously behind them in a computer lab or giving your roommate a little alone time so that he and his hand might have an intimate exchange. With Jubilee and Kitty, I wonder what I'll have to do short of bolting myself shut in a closet in order to obtain any sort of discretion. Rogue is someone I don't see myself having a problem with any time in the near future, we've too much in common, insofar as I can grasp. We're fairly reserved, guarded people, though we're personable enough when we have to be and then there's, well, Logan. We're two of the only people in this place, which may as well be the entire fucking world where this subject is concerned, who have actually really spent time with him, caught a rare glimpse of him for who he truly is. I appear to be her stage at the next level, part of me almost wonders who will come to usurp my current position.

Shaking my head, I banish such idiotic thoughts from my mind and crush my cigarette butt out, heading back inside. I've still got detention tonight and I'll be damned if I didn't get some sort of homework in every class but Logan's, as one can hardly consider buying a few pairs of sport's bras and some sweat pants an after school assignment. Reluctantly I head back inside, seeking out the cloistered comfort of the library to complete my studies in. As always, there will be plenty of time later for thinking. Just for giggles, I concentrate on images of the elderly in compromising positions. With a school like Mutant High, there's bound to be some fun to be had, though somehow I think the telepaths are inclined to disagree. A grin that would make the Grinch and the Cheshire Cat positively shake with envy works it's way up my face; this is going to be one hell of a semester.

-----

Lyrics belong to The Strokes' 'Red Light'.

Lyrics belong to Interpol's 'A Time To Be So Small'.


	9. A Praise Chorus

Author's Notes: This chapter came along rather quickly, so I thought I'd post it up without delay in thanks for your patience with the last one. Thanks to everyone who left me such amazing feedback, it seriously made my day. Also, to **Adriana**, who I couldn't contact directly to show my gratitude; I'll try and do right by you for it and your review made me squeal with glee. Shout-out's aside, this chapter gets into that murky, uncertain stuff, so I hope it pleases you all as I had a great deal of fun writing it. Take care, and remember to review!

Disclaimer: Nine chapters in and I still own anything. And by that, I mean only Adrian, kthnx.

"_Well that's enough I can't take anymore,  
I'm right out of vision I'm right out of hope.  
You set me up to just knock me down,  
What's on your conscience nothing happens in my town._

_I'll do graffiti if you sing to me in French,  
What are we doing here if romance isn't dead?  
Mind your mouth as you walk with me,  
Take care ooh as you cross the street."_  
-Maximo Park, 'Graffiti'

Chapter 9- "A Praise Chorus"

At nine o'clock on a Tuesday night most normal students would be finishing up homework assignments, brushing up on their study habits, watching television or talking on the phone. Suffice to say that I'm far from normal, and the school I'm currently attending is everything but a remedy to that. Standing in the luxurious foyer for the umpteenth time in the last two days, I find that this knowledge does little to phase me anymore. My time since having fled my home back in California has molded me, my environment has grown on me, even if that environment was the inside of Logan's beat-up old pick-up truck for about five days. I've come to terms with being a mutant, with my mutation and the changes that it brings. Looking up at the stately grandfather clock though, I know my purpose here probably doesn't include deep introspection, watching the big hand tick another notch away from it's zenith at the top, like Icarus falling from the brief grace he attained in the heavens.

I hear rather than see John enter into the area behind me, his trainers stepping confidently onto the hardwood floor until he stops a few feet away from my right. He looks bored and disinterested, like he has a hundred other things he could be doing right now, all of which are vastly more interesting and entertaining than serving an evening detention. For once, I'm actually in agreement with him. We eye one another for a moment and I nod slightly, acknowledging him. God forbid I should be given the same consideration, the smug bastard. He keeps that trademark, cocky smirk on his face until Professor Summers arrives less than a minute later.

"Sorry to keep the two of you waiting, I know how much the both of you have been looking forward to this," he smiles tightly and I try my best to keep my expression impassive. John, unable to resist the temptation, rolls his eyes skyward. "As penance for your disruptive behavior earlier today you'll both be taking on the custodial duties of cleaning out the classroom. All of the supplies are inside and the door is unlocked. You are expected to have the room clean and ready for class tomorrow in an hour's time, understood?"

"Yes, sir," I incline my head politely, wondering just how filthy ol' One-Eye's room could have gotten since the two of us had been in there. John replies with a less than dignified, "Uh-huh."

A smile ghosts our English professor's face and it's almost unnerving, noting his usually stony expression. "Good. I expect the room to be spotless come tomorrow morning. Should it be in a similar state of disarray you'll both be serving another detention," he paused a moment and one could assume that he was looking the both of us over, though it was impossible to tell, his ruby-colored sunglasses rather effectively blocking anyone from discerning just where, exactly, his gaze lay. I might be curious, but at this point I'm just getting irritated with his talking at us like we're fucking army cadets. I hastily suppress the urge to do a salute and yell "Sir, yes sir!"

"All right, I'm assuming neither of you have any questions, as this is a fairly easy assignment. Goodnight, I'll see you both in class tomorrow morning." And with that, he was gone. I slapped my forehead, willing the irritation to leave me as hastily as possible.

"Let's go," I mutter, walking back toward the classrooms, John beside me. We needn't bother with actually speaking to one another at the moment, our current exasperations with each other forgotten in the utter disbelief that our Professor thought that he was in a World War II war room. Opening a door, we walked into Professor Scott Summers' class room and John hit the light.

My jaw fell to the floor.

"What the… how in the living hell?" I sputtered, gesturing wildly to the absolute mess the classroom had become in our absence. Papers, shredded or otherwise, littered the floor and desktops, paint splashed about as if the room were one large Jackson Pollock piece. "You're fucking kidding, this is… I thought Professor Summers was a boy scout! What the shit is this?"

"He has a class of younger students in the late afternoon, apparently they did arts and crafts today," John ran a hand over his face, the idea of tackling the veritable refuse heap of a room before us was clearly an unpleasant one for both parties. Looking up at the ceiling I cursed again, seeing blue and red spattered up by the lights.

"This is-"

"Bullshit." John finished. "Aren't there laws against child labor?"

I left his query unanswered, instead moving toward the teacher's desk, atop which was a vast assortment of cleaning supplies, sponges and rags. Grabbing a bottle of Windex, a paint solvent and a rag, I approached the student's desks, clearing the clutter off the nearest one with an ungainly swipe of my arm. With or without our bitching, the clock was ticking, and I wouldn't put it past Summers to come poking his head in here randomly to check on our progress. Judging the distance from the desk to the ceiling, I placed the cleaning supplies on one end and hefted a chair onto another, climbing up to stand beside them. Hopefully this detention wouldn't result in my untimely demise, stepping up onto a precariously balanced chair on top of a smooth wooden surface. There's no way in hell John will do this part, though, he's barely picking up the paper with any relish. No, someone has to take one for the team, or whatever else we might be considered, sorry bastards that we are. Boys and girls didn't fraternize in classrooms after hours to play custodian, for god's sake, and while I wasn't really sure I wanted to be doing anything other than custodial duties in an empty classroom after hours with St. John Allerdyce, it was certainly more appealing than the present task at hand. Shielding my eyes, I sprayed at the paint on the ceiling, waiting a moment before rubbing the offending substance off with the rag in my other hand. That paint was either terribly weak or the solvent Xavier kept under the X-Men's kitchen sink was hydrochloric acid, I was surprised at the general ease at which I was able to swipe the stuff off the ceiling tiles, it was almost gratifying.

And then John started to speak again.

"Jesus, could they think of something a little less wifey to give us to do? I mean, shit, I'm not asking to go out and kill a Grizzly with my bare hands or anything like Logan, but it'd be nice not to be stuck playing house on a Tuesday night," he grumbled, throwing bits and scraps of paper into a trashcan.

"Your point, John? This is a punishment, not a fucking pleasure cruise," I got off the chair, moved it over a bit and climbed back up on it, tossing an end of my scarf over my shoulder. That bastard complained more than most small children I knew and god help me if it isn't irritating. "Don't you ever stay quiet?"

"I don't like uncomfortable silences," he responds defensively, crawling low and out of my vision to retrieve something or other from underneath another desk.

I sigh, scrubbing at the manmade heavens. "There is absolutely nothing uncomfortable about you keeping your mouth shut, Prometheus. Your silence is the mental equivalent to air conditioning on an L.A. summer's day."

He stands, smirk fixed firmly in place. With an air of mock-drama he throws a hand over his heart, grimacing. "Sweetheart, you're so callous, so cruel! Quick, hit me again, I think I might like it."

I don't need this shit right now. It's his fault I'm cleaning a goddamn ceiling right now instead of doing something worthwhile, like working on controlling my powers or spending time with my roommates. "John, don't make me erupt a toilet onto you to prove that I am _not_ your "sweetheart" and that I will cause you great bodily harm if you continue down the route of pissing me off."

He snorts, something like a sneer on his face. "Please, Mills, you're all talk. Bitch and bullshit, that's about all you've got going for you at this rate; you're too scared to use your powers and you can't even throw a goddamn punch."

Oh, that's it. I am so,_ so_ close to leaping down from this half-assed ladder and slapping him into tomorrow but I know better. I'm not so easily cajoled this time around, knowing full well that I'll be punished a second time for my actions. I'm stronger than that, I can maintain myself above the level of petty violence. That doesn't mean that I still don't fully expect to put up a good fight in this bantering session, though. "If it weren't for your stupid ass, I would be working with my powers now, you asshole," I grumble.

"Yeah, sure." I don't have to look at him to know that he's rolling his eyes at me right now. Fuck him, I'm going to finish this in the forty minutes that we have left and I'm going to go to sleep. I'll be absolved of my wrong doings in the morrow when Summers sees how disgustingly clean his room is and then I can forget about this whole mess. It's a worthwhile goal I've set, and in my fervor I spray up at the ceiling, ready to scrub with added resolve. Of course, as a result of said fervor, I forget to shield my eyes from the wannabe hydrochloric acid I've been spritzing the ceiling with and, as a result, I begin to curse loudly.

"Ow, fuck! Holy shit," I drop the bottle and rag, rubbing at my watering eyes frantically, trying to get them to tear up and wash away the noxious daggers stabbing my optics. Demons with flaming pitchforks, it feels like hundreds of thousands of demons with flaming pitchforks are stabbing my corneas. Vile, evil little bastards, it's impossible to shake them. Somewhere I register a note of concern that is not my own, but I'm lost to it now in my hurried attempts to be rid of my pain. It's right about then that I realize, possessed cleaning solution or no, I really shouldn't feel this weightless.

My god, I'm falling.

With an ungainly shriek I flail, landing on something that goes "oof" a moment later. I forget about my eyes as they water considerably, the tears washing most of the chemicals away and the pain of my ribs coming to accost me once again. Blind and in a considerable amount of anguish, I bleakly wonder what god of fate I've pissed off to deserve all of this because shit, someone has it in for me. As I briefly ponder my life as the female version of Morrissey, I feel the floor beneath me shift and groan; it's about then that I know I've lost my mind.

"Christ, Adrian, get offa me. You've kicked my ass, all right? Now move!" It's John, and I'm not losing my mind as a result of quasi-ingested household cleaners. Hooray. This does nothing for my pain, though, or my blurred, stung vision as I gingerly shift myself off the boy beneath me. Whatever poise I've had has pretty much given me the finger and bailed, so I do what any other person in my position would; I turn away and try not to make too much noise as I wonder how the fuck to stop all those sharp, stabbing slivers of agony from shattering the small bit of composure I still have. Screwing up my face, I maintain my silence, teeth clenched hard enough to break.

"Thank you. Jesus, Mills, next time you wanna throw some retarded ninja assault on somebody, pick another target next ti- Mills?" The scathing irritation is replaced almost instantaneously by something far more cautious. I can't see him, but I can hear him move around me, feel that air of apprehension as he realizes that I wasn't screwing around. "Hey, Adrian, are you all right?"

It comes from in front of me and I tuck my chin to my chest, gingerly wrapping my arms around my torso. "I'm fine, John," I bite out, anger surging through at the stupidity of the entire situation, the circumstances under which this is happening. This is the fucking worst Tuesday night ever.

"Bullshit, you're crying." There's a hand on my shoulder.

"That's what happens when you accidentally spray a bunch of toxic shit into your eyes, genius," I grumble, irritated, attempting to shrug out of his hold. What difference does it make to him, anyway? He's probably just afraid I'll implicate him in it and tell the Professors that he pushed me or something. I'm startled to comprehend just how much the notion of me being that horrid to him cuts me. Then again, doing that to anyone would be so unbelievably futile and cowardly I don't understand why it would be a concern to begin with. Our headmaster is Charles Xavier, telepath supreme, for god's sake.

"Adrian, please, I'm not that stupid. You didn't participate in class this afternoon and you've been moving around like my grandmother on a rainy day when her arthritis starts acting up. Come on, look at me. Do I need to take you to the infirmary?"

I open my eyes slowly, relieved that most of the biting sting has left them. I must look like I'd been in a pool the last ten hours for how red they're bound to be. But all of this is trivial compared to the dark spheres before me, those eyes boring into me with that quiet, burning intensity. I shake my head. "No, there's nothing they can do for broken ribs save to put me on more painkillers, and if I take any more Tylenol I'll have to have my stomach pumped."

For the first time in my brief stay at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters I see John pale, worry creasing his youthful features. "You broke them when you fell?"

"Goodness no, these have been broken for about a week now. Falling just sort of, well, you know. They're broken ribs, you can't really fix them," I finish awkwardly, conscious of the fact that I now have the pyromaniac's full attention. "So… you want to help me up?"

He stands, complying with my request before continuing. "How'd it happen?"

I brush myself off carefully, seeking to look everywhere but up at that scorching, intense gaze. Fire versus water, we're so different, and yet so very much alike on some levels. After a moment I turn my gaze up at him. "After I ran away, a man tried to rape me in a back alley in Los Angeles. I managed to escape him before he could do too much to me and ran off. When I thought I was finally safe he found me again and took me out behind a building where he then proceeded to kick the living shit out of me. If Logan hadn't saved me…" I paused, recalling the moment. He'd had a knife on him, crazed with anger and lust while it was all I could do to accept my fate at his hands, Logan, my Knight in Denim Armor had come to my rescue. Logan was my savior. But there are things you keep to yourself in moments like these, whatever they are, and I make certain not to utter my thoughts aloud.

John takes my words in with a frown. He seems to consider them, weigh them in his mind a moment and let the flavor of them roll around on his pallet before he speaks, toying with the fringe of my scarf. "Do you mind if I-?"

"It's fine." He makes no move to offer any horrified apologies just yet, instead taking this moment to carefully unwrap my black and white scarf from around my neck. I keep my head held high in soft defiance as he pulls the garment away and keep my eyes fixed to his as I watch him take in the scene before him. While I know the stark purple, black and blue have faded into something more reminiscent of a grayish yellow the imprint is still there. He exhales, letting the air hiss out as he peers at it. I feel branded. I am the ant beneath the naughty child's magnifying glass as his eyes narrow, studying the marks on my neck. Carefully he lifts a hand up, and it's all I can do not to jump backward as he traces the outline gently with his fingertips.

"I'm sorry this happened to you." The words echo out in the silence of the room, all previous offenses forgotten. His eyes snap up to meet mine again and I release the breath I didn't even realize I'd been holding.

I shrug, balking, my eyes finally flitting down to his trainers. "It could have been worse, I was lucky someone came to my aid."

"Yeah, I guess you were." I like this, the fact that he's not fussing over me, pitying me and my lot in life. Tons of people have had this happen to them, his look seems to tell me, and while it's not totally condescending, not completely without heart, it seems to ask me what makes me so special. Why should I be praised so highly for succeeding where so many already have? Why should I be mourned for when other people have had it so much worse? It's revitalizing, so strange that fire, of all things, should give me this cool glass to drink from to wash away my melancholy. Carefully, gently, he wraps the scarf back around my neck with confident hands. They linger a moment longer than decency allows before he drops them to his sides again and awareness comes screaming back to me.

Detention. St. John Allerdyce is right in my goddamn face. I told him about the man in the alley. We have to finish cleaning within the next ten minutes before Professor Summers comes back and fries us. He's so close to me I can smell him. Sweet suffering fuck this is awkward. Something changed and I don't understand it. Only Logan and the Professor know about what really happened in that alleyway, why the hell did I spew it out to Prometheus? I could have lied. He's still looking at- oh shit, Professor Summers is early.

"Is there a reason you two aren't still cleaning? This place is a mess." John and I turn to face the irritated teacher standing in the doorway. John takes a step away from me.

"Adrian fell off the desk while cleaning the ceiling, I wanted to make sure she was okay." John looks bored again, the walls coming up and closing around him like the stockades of a fortress. Professor Summers frowns and, I assume, looks me over.

"I was injured before I enrolled here, my ribs were broken. The fall gave me a little more than I'd bargained for and John was trying to coax me into going to the infirmary," I supply with a practiced calm. I'm still in a goodly amount of hurt and I'm confused to no unseemly end, but I keep myself focused on telling the English teacher the truth.

Another shrewd once over, or so I believe. "What happened to your eyes?"

"I accidentally sprayed myself with a cleaning bottle, that's what caused the fall, sir." He nods, appearing satisfied.

"All right, you can both leave for the evening, consider your detention fulfilled. I expect you both to come to class tomorrow and behave together, am I understood?" When we both responded affirmative he dismissed us. "Good night. And Adrian, enjoy seeing the world in red for a little while but be sure to rinse your eyes out with water. We'll have Jean have a look at them tomorrow for you before class." With that, he departs.

Seeing no use in putting anything else away, we vacate the room without touching it any further and shut the door, going off toward the dorms. Our pace has slowed considerably thanks to my clumsiness, but John continues to escort me none the less. We stride along in silence, parting ways to head off to the separate wings quietly with a nod in goodbye. Sighing wearily, I shamble down the hall and open my door slowly, stepping in and shutting it carefully.

"Helloooo chica!" Jubilee calls to me from her desk. "Have fun in detention with the flamer?"

"Oodles," I manage, going over to my own desk and rummaging through it for a pill bottle. Pulling out the familiar aspirin container I take two and wash them down with a glass of water, grimacing slightly at the aftertaste.

"I take it John was as charming as ever?" Kitty queried from her bed, typing on a laptop, her expression blank.

"You bet," I settle my weight down carefully upon my mattress. "Where's Rogue?"

Jubilee makes a kissing face. "With Bobby. They were taking advantage of his free room while John was with you in detention. Won't they be thrilled when he comes back early," she cackles hysterically.

"I'd be mortified, John is such a jackass sometimes," Kitty quipped, shaking her head. "Either way, they'd better hurry up or they'll be breaking curfew, and-"

The door opened, cutting Kitty off mid-sentence. Rogue quickly closed it, leaning back on it in relief. "Looks like somebody made a little bit more than curfew," Jubilee giggled.

"As much as someone can be when they have deadly skin," Rogue smirked. "Y'all shoulda seen the look on St. John's face. Ah neva took that boy for a prude but good god, you coulda painted stop signs with his cheeks."

Kitty gave her a shrewd look. "That doesn't sound much like John. The last time he did that didn't he tell you to move slightly to the left so that he could get a better view of your ass?"

Jubilee went into peels of laughter while Rogue looked contemplative for a moment. "Now that ya mention it, he was a little subdued. Did he sniff some Windex or somethin' while ya were cleanin' Adrian?"

"Something like that, yeah," I muttered, too wrapped up in my own head to really explain myself any better. Rogue shrugged, seeming satisfied with her lot after a night with Bobby while Jubilee and Kitty narrowed their sights in on me.

"I know there's something you're not telling us, chica," Jubilee waved a pencil at me. "Don't worry, we'll have you spilling it soon enough. Right Kitty?"

"Oh, you bet. You can't keep gossip from someone like Jubilee, she's a bloodhound for that stuff." I frown as I begin to contemplate just how tonight could have been in any way the tabloid fodder Jubilee seems to live for. I'm still pretty out of sorts about the whole thing, though, so I shake it out, standing up and grabbing my pajamas out of my dresser. I change in the bathroom, brushing my teeth quickly and running water over my face, cleaning my eyes out as Professor Summers instructed. I don't get it, I can't quite comprehend the last hour. Something changed, and it was so subtle I missed it in action. Now I'm pouring over it, trying to see just when and where it morphed and altered itself. It's mind-boggling, and I soon find that I tire of it. Heading out of the bathroom, I pull out my history textbook and begin reviewing my notes again for the test tomorrow. Benedict Arnold, that sneaky fox, he was a true business man, a snake playing for both sides. If he'd succeeded he'd have been brilliant, but once found out is purpose was severed and he was thrown in with the malignant and the corrupt, damned by both the Mother and her rebellious Child. Between a rock and a hard place. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. Fire. John, those eyes burning into me, branding me, rooting me to the spot.

I snap my book shut, unable to concentrate. This is ridiculous, absolutely fucking batty. I need to get a grip, calm myself and wade through all the inane stuff that's collected and overflowed in the gutter of my mind. Not that my mind is in the gutter, so to speak, and especially not with thoughts of that lighter-clicking asshat, but… Wow, this really is starting to get to me. I'm confused and my brain is scrambled beyond all rational belief. That bastard, he probably did all of that just to fuck with me, toy with my head a bit so that he could laugh at me for it later, get back at me for making him look like a tool back in his room, and all those other times. It would serve me right, karma has a way of coming back to bite you in the ass, but something tells me that I was probably doing karma a favor by coming here and riling the guy up a bit; he's no angel himself, regardless of the biblical context of his name. "God gave" and "the Dark One". A dark gift. This taken into consideration, is it wrong for me to view myself the protagonist? I am water, and therefore I am life incarnate. I can be found everywhere, even on the moon. There isn't any fire on the moon, and yet without our blessed sun there would be no moon and no life here on earth. Fire and water, yin and yang, heaven and hell.

Fucking a, I'm running myself in circles with this shit, I need to go to sleep, stop thinking about this for a while. I've let him get under my skin and nothing good can come from such anxious thoughts. This is no riddle, I needn't crack to figure it out. Hearing the other girls getting ready for sleep, I move the large textbook and my notes onto my nightstand, settling under the covers for a good night's rest. Lights out and well over an hour later, I'm wondering if sleep will ever come. All that contemplative crap might have been entertaining for a moment, but now it's opened that horrifying Pandora's Box of possibilities I'd rather not consider and I find myself rolling over in irritation, shoving my head underneath a pillow with the hope of ridding my thoughts of it via smothering. I hope that jackass doesn't sleep a wink tonight, I hope he's all hot and bothered, rolling around and keeping Ice Cream awake. It would serve him right, and perhaps then Bobby wouldn't be such a damn ray of sunshine in the morning. My mind drifts unchecked to what they might, or might not, wear to sleep in and I growl with frustration, pulling my head out into the cool air and sighing heavily.

"Goddamnit Adrian, chill the fuck out and go to bed, this is getting retarded," I grumble to myself in the silence of the room. Kitty shifts in her sleep and I roll over, away from them. Squeezing my eyes shut, I calm myself, thinking of cool, glassy lakes and the rolling waves of the ocean. I hadn't been to the beach in almost a year, but I remembered the salty tang in the air and the cry of the gulls, the coastal wind wrapping it's fingers round the locks of my hair and tugging at them playfully. The elusive sturdiness of the sand beneath my bare feet, the cool water lapping at my toes, brine clinging to the dunes like one, large milk moustache. Somewhere behind me my parents are sunbathing, it's the first day off my father has had in quite some time and they're both on towels, lounging beneath a large umbrella with drinks. Things were simple then, with the wind in my hair and the fine spray of the sea in my face. Wading out to the break, I spread my arms wide and give myself, body and soul, to the great Pacific ocean, an eternal pact forged as the waves crash upon me and take me under.  
-----


	10. Something To Do

Author's Notes: To say that these fifteen pages are in honor of the first double-digit chapter in 'Some Weird Sin' would be a lie, as I'd really never planned on this part going on so bloody long. There's a lot that happens in this bit, though, so I hope all of you will forgive me for the ungodly length. Taking to heart **The Green Bird's** suggestion via feedback, I've tried to lessen the length of some of the paragraphs, which is to say I made a valiant effort (I blame Henry Miller). I've probably failed miserably, but do know that it was attempted, if that brings any solace. Once again, thank you to all of you who reviewed, it was very, very much appreciated. I look forward to more in the future and I hope that all of you like this chapter. Thanks again, and, as always, your reviews are treasured most highly. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Ten chapters into this bitch and still I own nothing. Except, of course, Adrian. _Gasp! Shock! _All of it belongs to Marvel, FOX and probably William Shatner, while we're at it. That bastard has everything.

"_Lost out in deep space, it's hard to know where we are.  
Stuck out here someplace among the collapsing stars.  
Holed up in my ship without a power source,  
It's so dark I can't see this couldn't get any worse.  
How can I be sure that all is accounted for?_

_You are the one shining bright as the sun and I'd love to turn you on if I could."_  
-We Are Scientists, 'Ode To Star L23'

Chapter 10- "Something To Do"

I awaken late again the next morning, throwing on jeans, a tee shirt and a scarf while rushing about in order to clean myself before breakfast. Part of me wants to avoid the gathering like the plague, but I know how to keep my attentions focused elsewhere and I depart from the usual group in favor of a silent meal with Logan. Logan, the Wolverine as he's known, doesn't make the tempest rage inside my head whenever I look at him, nor do my palms itch to hit and maim. He's calm, withstanding the ages with the sturdiness of any great mountain range. Coming down from the Olympus that is the teacher's table, Logan, my Knight in Denim Armor, the Aries War Lord of the bunch, lends me his silent comfort. I wouldn't put it past him to have worked out that I've got something on my mind, something worming its way into my thoughts, but he doesn't ask, and for that I'm thankful. I don't think I could explain this even if I tried.

Excusing myself ten minutes before breakfast ends, I leave to get to Dr. Grey's office early, recalling Professor Summers' instructions the night before. The night before, shit. I need to stop thinking about this like some giant, stupid idiot and get my shit together. All of this schoolgirl bullshit has no place in my mind and I know it. Not that there's anything going on other than the "what the fuck was that?" of last night, but still, it's irksome beyond belief, especially when one is on their way to meet with the school's second most powerful telepath. I'm not afraid of Dr. Grey's reaction so much as I'm a far more private person. If anyone hears about John's antics last night, it'll be by my tongue. Not to assume, but I doubt he's been shouting it through the halls. Then again, there's nothing to shout- or is there? Christ on a motherfucking bike, this is getting obscene.

An hour and forty minutes later and I've been assured my eyes are fine, that my ribs will heal in due time and I've got more notes to shove under my bed. I wave goodbye to Piotr and head out. Then suddenly it's English and I'm pausing awkwardly in the doorway, unsure of where to go, what to do, because it was just a little over twelve hours ago that I was in here cleaning with that lighter-clicking fuckwit and I spilled my guts something awful on the floor after I fell. Shaking my head and willing myself into action, I move towards a vacant seat near the back and lower myself into it gingerly. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I realize I never asked him if he was all right, after I landed on him, but he never complained and class has begun, Professor Summers' voice drowning out the train wreck of thought in my head.

"-all of you gather into your groups and discuss the reading assigned last night. Beatrice, will you please join Bobby and Rogue as Gail is absent today? Questions are on the board." Straight and to the point, I suppose there's not much room for other perception when you've only got one eye. Figuratively speaking, of course. Beatrice appears grateful that she doesn't have to work with John and I again and I can't blame her. We're both expected to make up the reading currently, handing in the questions tomorrow along with the rest of our homework. Looking down at the small novel the Cyclops left on my desk I almost want to tell him that whatever pride I have left after yesterday evening should be penance enough, but such things aren't tolerated and I keep my mouth shut. Control. I can control my tongue just as easily as I can control the water flowing through the pipes.

John hasn't said a word to me all day, book open, balanced precariously on the edge of his desk, staring at it and doing little else save fingering the lighter in his pocket. I bite back a crude comment about jingling loose change and dig into the ancient lyrical poetry, stopping every now and then to make a notation on a piece of lined paper. Hearing a snort I look up from my work, eyebrow raised slightly in question. "Problem, John?"

"They're notes for One-Eye's class, it's not like you're delivering a fucking baby," he indicates my papers with a scoff. I feel the familiar irritation return.

"John, shut the hell up and read your book." Normality is restored. Banished is the strange behavior displayed during our detention and I feel something settle within myself. "The less you speak the less time we're forced to spend together. Unless you enjoyed last night? Perhaps it's the first time a girl's really _fallen_ for you."

I should have stopped myself after the first sentence, but it was just too easy, too fun to keep going. Control, fuck control. Prometheus said it himself, and maybe the experience of verbally besting him was enough for me right now, just as it was the day we met. But his pride as a member of the male sex has been insulted and I get the feeling he's well on the verge of whipping out his "I have a penis and am therefore superior to you" card and throwing it across the desks at me.

He gives me that trademark, cocky smirk of his and leans forward ever-so-slightly in his chair. "Mills, I don't really feel the need to justify myself to you sexually, but please, don't mistake me for Ice Cube over there. We may be roommates, but we're not the same people in that more carnal sense. Fire and Ice, I'm sure you get the hint."

Glancing at Bobby's group out of the corner of my eye I look back to John, unimpressed. "And he just ended up being the one who got the girlfriend because he was lucky I suppose?"

John laughs. "What's lucky about having a girlfriend you can't fuck?"

Scandalized, I glare at him in a state of disgust and fury. Everyone here had their problems, their vices, their mutations, what gave him the right to be so horrifically cruel with the small bit of happiness they were able to harvest? "You make me sick. How can you even begin to say such a thing you vile, loathsome-"

"Is there a problem?" Again, that tall shadow falling across our desks. I stopped myself, reigning in my composure.

"We were discussing the monster Grendel, Professor," I lied, gesturing to my notes. "You'll have to pardon me, I'm rather passionate about literature."

Summers looks less than persuaded but nods his head and continues milling about the other groups, giving help and suggestions. It's a silent warning, be good or you're gone, and I do my best to heed it, giving John not a glance more and settling back into my work. I hum softly to myself while Elvis Presley sings to me from beyond the grave, providing a soundtrack for the otherwise dull classroom noise. An indiscernible amount of time later and class is dismissed for lunch. Without a word I pick up my things and leave, thankful to be free from the stifling tension within the room. The phrase "eyes on the back of your neck" had a whole new meaning with someone like Professor Scott Summers and I was glad to be out from under the heat for a bit, having been deemed a threat to the peaceful nature of his classroom.

Pausing by the door to the cafeteria I stopped a moment before striding past it and down the hall. Following the memory of Professor Munroe's footsteps the other night I kept up my pace until I reached the large pool, stepping into the cavernous, empty room with quiet footsteps that echoed and reverberated in the vast expanse. Eating could wait, I'd neglected honing my skills, testing my limits with my mutation and I wanted to see what I could manage to pull off in the hour we had for lunch. Start off slow, work your way up, like exercising, or alcohol tolerance. I placed my things near the door, unsure of what to expect from my experimentations, and removed my shoes as well. Throwing the scarf in with the lot of it as an afterthought, I approached the pool barefoot and exploratory. Before I'd started with a wave, a figure molded out of liquid. I wasn't too certain I wanted to attempt walking on the surface of the chlorinated water again, but the parting of the makeshift sea had been exhilarating enough to warrant a go. Almost. I took a deep, steadying breath. Control, I need to prove this to myself. I need to prove him that he's wrong, because god knows I hate arrogant assumptions and besting him may just prove to be the crux of my stability here. Courage, control- fucking a, I sound like Gwen Stefani with all these horrifically lame mantras. This needs to stop before I ruin my band and release a terrible solo album. Seriously.

Pushing my will into it I move my arms upward, the water following suit almost instantaneously. It was mountainous, the sheer mass of it was astounding, reaching up to peak at the very ceiling before I lowered it gently back into the pool. I grinned. It's impossible not to feel like God when you can do something like that and I amuse myself, the water forming into a giant disco ball and rotating at my command. This thing that I can do, it's incredible. It's exhilarating, and it's fantastic, I wish I could spend my whole life manipulating this liquid to do my bidding. It becomes easier to accomplish as time wears on, like driving, every attempt running a bit more smoothly, responding more prompt than the previous. Someone mentioned that Bobby creates his ice from water particles in the air, explaining his ability to pull the stuff out of fucking nowhere and make kittens with it. Well, he can do that all he likes, but can he say he's caused the glaciers to move at his whim? Eyes of icy-blue versus the gray-blue of true liquid water. If I worked a little harder, if I concentrated more and actually trained my abilities, sweet suffering fuck, I could move rivers, I could master the seas. I chuckled to myself at the thought, the surfers would be eating out of my palm for their waves if I ever returned back to California.

All too soon the time passed and I was forced to run, damp from my endeavors with the pool water and somewhat tired from my efforts, to Professor Munroe's History class. I must wreak of chlorine and I catch the knowing smile she throws me before the lesson begins. Jubilee looks at me like I'm nuts, asking where I was at lunch and I grin, quietly explaining to her that I'd had something better to do than gorge myself. Skinny thing that she is, the mention that there was something more important than food and gossip made her eyes widen in disbelief and I wonder perhaps if I've insulted her. She soon laughs though and we quiet at the mention of our test, based on the last three chapters we've gone over in our textbook. I find myself feeling grateful for having prepared myself yesterday as I answer the questions on the exam. Professor Munroe is by no means an easy teacher. She's demanding of her students, and its something I rather respect about her. I'd like nothing more than to rise to the occasion, with my schooling and my training. I finish ten minutes before the end of class and walk with Jubilee down to the Danger Room for Logan's self defense course when she stops.

"Oh my god, I almost forgot!" grabbing my wrist she drags me back up to the dorm. I'm on the verge of enquiring where the hell her mind has run off to when she explains herself. "Dr. Grey came up to everyone in Logan's class today during lunch, they're taking us to go get training clothes and stuff. Isn't it awesome?"

We walk into the dorm where Rogue and Kitty are already collecting purses and shucking their school bags. I stand in the doorway a moment, feeling very much like an alien observer to the scene before me. Rogue catches my eye and smiles. "Don't worry Adrian, they'll jus' take us to a mall a few miles down the road fer an hour or two."

"I, er," I pause for a moment. "How exactly do we pay for our things? I mean, I have a few dollars left from L.A., but it's hardly enough to buy what I'll need for class."

Kitty laughed. "Don't be silly, it all goes on the school's card. Oh! That reminds me," she turned two her other two roommates, a conspiratorial grin curving her lips. "Adrian, how many pairs of clothes did you bring here with you?"

"Three or four, why?" Jubilee gapes at me. For the love of god, one would think I was in cahoots with that Magnet guy from the look she gave me.

"Only three or- Oh, chica, you poor, poor thing. Don't worry," she takes my hand in her own and pats it, smiling. "We'll take care of you."

Fast forward an hour and a half later and I'm hiding behind a jeans display with a few shopping bags in my hands, wondering desperately how in the seven hells I'm going to make it out of Macy's undetected. I've never really been one for shopping, but Jubilee and Kitty, dear sweet lord, those two girls are merciless! Rogue was able to escape after a half an hour with the excuse of spending some quality time out with Bobby getting ice cream and I envied her beyond all rational belief. We'd already covered half the mall and I'd had some forty or fifty things thrown at me, been dragged into a dressing room and had various items shoved at me half as many times and it was driving me mad. Rogue told me it had something to do with Jubilee's previous life, the one she'd had before she came to Xavier's, something about her living in a mall. Well, not to be totally callous, but I didn't really give a fuck if it meant my having to endure this torment for another forty minutes until the meet-up time. Scanning to be sure the coast was clear, I booked it out of the store and ran like a madwoman across the mall, making a hard left towards one of the mall exits and out into the open, second story balcony, skidding to a halt before nearly I toppled over a metal table and a pair of chairs. There were a few people there so I went over and sat near the railing, attempting to look inconspicuous and while hoping to god that my two roommates didn't come out here to search for me any time soon.

"Enjoying your shopping?" I almost jumped out of my skin, whirling about. I exhaled, relieved to find myself in the presence of Piotr, Jolly Russian Giant and living Michelangelo statue extraordinaire.

"Holy fuck, Piotr, you scared the ever-loving shit out of me. I thought you were-"

"Katya and Jubilee," he grinned knowingly. "No, indeed I am not." He took a seat across from me. "They're rather over-zealous, yes?"

I pulled a pack of cigarettes out of my back pocket, removing one. "It's like every day is Black Friday with those two, isn't it?" Piotr laughed as I took out my lighter, cupping the flame against the warm breeze. "It's not that I don't appreciate their help, I just, well, it's a little much sometimes."

"I can understand, they get like that about shopping, we've all experienced it at one time or another." He smiled softly. We sat in silence for a few moments, letting the conversations around us filter in and out at each change of the wind. It was comfortable, companionable much like with Logan earlier that morning. Piotr doesn't pry, something I've noted in the few days I've been graced with his presence; he observes. He's a steady constant individual, and he's smart enough to know that if people want to tell him things, they'll simply tell him. I love that about him, almost more than I adore that sinfully magnificent Russian accent of his and I wouldn't doubt he knows it. With someone like Piotr, I have no qualms with letting my guard down.

"Do they do this sort of thing often? Little excursions for the students and whatnot to keep everyone from getting too stir-crazy?"

He nods. "Occasionally. Teachers organize field-trips and sometimes students are allowed to go out in small groups if they're well behaved or accompanied by a chaperone."

I took a drag off my cigarette, it seemed logical. After all, Xavier's school was preparing us for our futures as mutants out among the human world, and I'll be damned if that wasn't an interesting prospect. "It's really cool that you guys are so close, I mean, you, Jubilee, Rogue, Bobby, Kitty and John. You guys have really got each other's backs."

Piotr's not a stupid boy by any means, despite what some might assume at first glance. I pity whatever poor bastard makes that mistake and earns his ire, because, honestly, who are we kidding? The guy is built like a goddamn freight train. One glance away from the mere dismissal of a dude-bro and I'm thanking my lucky stars that I know better. "We've got yours too, you know."

I chuckle, exhaling smoke. "I wonder what I've done to deserve it sometimes. A lot of the time, actually. I mean, I've only been here a few days, you guys barely known me. And I've been, well, I don't know."

The larger boy inclines his head in understanding. "You're adjusting, just as we all did when we first came here. You learn not to judge being in a place like Xavier's, you can't really afford to. For a lot of us, our friends are all we've got."

Leave it to the artist to really get a grasp on the conversation, to really perceive it for what it truly is. I bite down the unexpected surge of emotions clamoring to rise up and out of me and nod. "I know. I… I'm sorry for starting so much shit with John all the time, I'm not trying to be a drama queen, I swear." Dear god, he must think I've gone insane. I sound like I'm on the verge of babbling out my last words on this mortal plane, like I'm in a psychiatric appointment or something. Instead of giving me a strange look or making excuses to leave, though, he laughs.

"It's about time someone did it, Adrian. This is St. John we're talking about, he needs someone to bounce off of, to react with. In fact, he's better for it. If he hasn't realized it now, he will soon enough."

I raise an eyebrow, trying not to crack up, my thoughts briefly going back to my conversation with Jubilee the day before. "Will he now? I was under the strict impression that he was going to throttle me in my sleep as soon as he got the chance. I mean, we do butt heads a lot."

"It keeps him in check, gives his ego a little balance. He did the same for Bobby when he first came here two years ago or so." He leans back in his seat, watching a bird circle overhead.

I do my best not to sound too flabbergasted. "Bobby? Arrogant? Now there's an interesting thought." Bobby was, by definition, the most polite, All-American boy I'd ever met. Bobby Drake was to Beaver Cleaver as drugs are to an Irvine Welsh novel, and yet I found myself beginning to comprehend it a bit easier. "I can see it happening though. How'd he pull it off?"

"They got into a fist fight one day during a football game with a few of the other students. Ever since then they've been best friends." Piotr shrugged. "Bobby spends a bit more time with Rogue now, obviously, and I think John resents it a little, but he understands. And above all, John's still John, something Bobby accepts easier than others are bound to."

The cherub and the deviant. God, weren't they a match made in heaven. "Bobby's a pretty accepting guy, he really is sort of a Golden Boy, isn't he? I'm rather amazed with it, to tell you the truth. I seriously only thought kids like that existed on television shows anymore."

"I take it there weren't many people like him back in Los Angeles?" _Yahtzee!_ So the gentle giant can play offensive as well when it suits him. Interesting.

"They're a fucking endangered species where I grew up," I make a face, taking my last drag before I realize all I've got left is filter. Crushing it out on a chair leg, I throw the butt into a nearby trashcan. "That's not to say that I haven't known some, or people that pretended to be thus, but, well, we didn't really associate. I wasn't a badass, I was a realist."

"Surviving in the high school hierarchy? I've never had the pleasure, though I've heard about it. Jubilee mentioned it being pretty cut-throat."

"We're from the same part of town, so the dog-eat-dog rule is still apply pretty heavily. I had a few people I hung out with, a really close friend and some other associates. That was all I really needed, you know? Maggie and I, we were like you guys, we had each others backs." I stop for a moment, staring hard at the table. "Fuck, I miss her. I never really had the chance to say goodbye before I came out here, she probably thinks I'm dead." Yeah, I have her back all right, complete with complementary carving knife. If I haven't just stated that I'm the world's shittiest friend since Brutus right now I don't know what could possibly make it more obvious. I grimace, guilt and self-loathing weighing heavily in my chest.

Piotr shrugs. "You did what you had to. When we get back to the mansion you can call her and let her know you're okay if you'd like, I doubt the Professor would mind."

As always, Piotr saves the day. Someone give the boy a fucking cape already. But before I can thank him he's looking over my shoulder and smiling at people I can't see. A quick turn of the head reveals that Bobby, Rogue and John have come to join us, and I pull over three extra chairs so that they might seat themselves.

Rogue grins at me, sitting. "Finally manage to get rid of the shopaholics?" I send a half-hearted glare in her direction.

"I absolutely cannot believe you left me with them while they were in such a frightening state! My god, it's like they smelled blood, I had to hide out in the maternity section for ten minutes before creeping out of the store! I felt like I was in goddamn Vietnam!" Apparently this is remarkably funny to everyone else, though I get the feeling they're probably just amused at my misfortune, but they all crack up like Humpty Dumpty and I'm left shaking my head, trying not to give in. Bobby looked down at his watch.

"We'd better get out to the parking lot, you guys, Professor Summers will be here any minute." Boy scouts always help each other out, damn their honor. We pull ourselves to our feet, grab our respective purchases and head off downstairs. A few short minutes later and we're all picked up in a large van, Kitty and Jubilee, of course, arrive late.

"So sorry Professor, there was a huuuuuuge sale at Sacs, we didn't even- hey, there she is!" Jubilee gushed, flailing at me from the middle of the van. I was thankful then that I'd crammed myself into the back row, as she ended up accidentally smacking one of the other students in the head with a shopping bag. "Adrian, what happened to you? We lost you at Macys!"

Rogue barely manages to cover up her grin as I respond. "I, er, I had to use the restroom and I got lost trying to find you guys again. Sorry about that, I'm still getting used to the area."

Jubilee flashed me a grin. "It's all cool chica, we picked you up some stuff we thought you'd like anyway." The snicker from John spoke volumes and I thanked them, trying not to reveal my growing horror. If what they chose was in any way remotely like Jubilee's coat, I didn't want to think about it, it was simply too ghastly an option to consider. Barely able to make out the clock at the front of the van from my vantage point between Rogue and Piotr, I noticed that it was almost dinner time, the luck at having missed not only one, but two classes quite invigorating indeed. It was Wednesday today, my one week anniversary of leaving L.A., meeting Logan and in return accepting my lot in life as a member of mutant society. With the knowledge of there being no massive, impending projects having been bestowed upon us earlier in the week, no piles of homework (save Summers' inane questionnaire) perhaps I'd have the opportunity to raise a little hell and have some fun. It certainly was an inviting prospect, especially on a school night, and I thought about approaching Logan with some ideas after dinner. That plan was all well and good, of course, until I realized that Logan was not at dinner, nor did he come by later for desert.

Puzzled, I sought out Rogue who was, of course, spending time with Bobby in his room. Already feeling sorry for the awkward conversation that was likely to happen in only a few moments time, I walked over to the boys dormitory and knocked upon the sturdy hardwood of the door. A muffled "Coming!" was heard and I struggled not to giggle like an idiot, wrenching my mind from the it's proverbial gutter. Looking somewhat flustered, Bobby opened the door.

"Adrian, hey. You need help with anything?" He was still polite to me, even when I'd just interrupted alone-time with his girlfriend, the boy really was an angel.

"Actually," I peered guiltily inside for a moment. "I was hoping if I could ask Rogue a question real quick? I promise it won't take long," I added hurriedly, not wanting to impose. He smiled and lead me in, assuring me that it wasn't a problem in the least.

"Whatcha' need, Adrian?" Rogue sat on Bobby's bed, the comforter bearing that tell-tale rumple. Feeling like a complete ass, I spoke.

"I was wondering if you knew where Logan might be, I didn't see him at dinner, and he didn't show up for desert, so-"

She laughed. "He's probably on a mission fer the Professor, if you can't find him in the Danger Room, of course. Ah wouldn't worry 'bout it, he always comes back just fine."

Well, so much for that plan. Thanking the pair as expediently as possible I fled the scene, heading downstairs. I frowned, chewing my lip as I wondered what I was supposed to do that night. Granted, going into the rec. room and watching television or playing foosball was always an option, but both ideas failed to excite me any more than the notion of going back into Bobby's room and asking if he and Rogue wanted to discuss quantum theories with me. Jubilee and Kitty were still riding out the waves of their post-shopping spree endorphins and while I was rather fond of the two girls I was loathe to put myself at their mercy a second time. Piotr had wisely chosen to avoid them as well, instead aiding some of the younger students in some homework (something I plan on avoiding at all costs for the time being) and John was nowhere to be found. Just as well, I decided, as I really didn't feel the need to have to put up with his shit at the moment. My feet made their way into the kitchen thoughtlessly and, with nothing better to do, I decided to acquaint myself with the contents of various cabinets.

_"Viva la revolucion,_ this is the lamest fucking celebration ever," I muttered darkly, glancing over cans and bottles in one cupboard before shutting it and moving disinterestedly to another. I wasn't even hungry, just stupidly bored and restless. I'd almost made my mind up to go back and deal with Kitty and Jubilee's temporary insanity when I espied something rather curious in the back of one of the higher cabinets. Climbing up onto the counter top I peered into it and carefully reached into the back of it to pull the item out for closer inspection. It was then that I realized that there was, in fact, a god, the label read "Maker's Mark" and I practically squealed with my joy. Whiskey, sweet mother of all that is holy, I'd found whiskey. Now if only I could find a place to go and drink it unbeknownst to my fellow students. I didn't know to whom this great boon belonged, but at this point I hardly cared, I'd challenge Logan to a slap fight for it if it meant I had the chance of taking it. Jumping down from the counter and shutting the cabinet softly, I removed my scarf and wrapped the bottle as inconspicuously as possible. I was in the middle of doing thus, in fact, when I heard a derisive snort from over my shoulder.

"Mills, that looks so goddamn obvious, you might as well uncork it right now and run down the halls with it yodeling."

Of all the lousy motherfuckers I didn't want to run into, it had to be him. "John, as always your attention to detail continues to exceed expectation. But really, what are you going to do, tattle on me? That's rather childish, even for you."

"Which is why you're going to buy my silence," he smirked. "Really, it's only fair, I'll be doing you a favor. That's Summers' bottle, you know."

Prissy Scott Summers drank something and it wasn't Budweiser or Zima? "Bullshit. If it belongs to anyone at this place, it's Logan's. Professor Summers would be out of his league drinking Miller Lite for fuck's sake." A below-the-belt strike for any true alcohol connoisseur, but it needed to be done. John merely shrugged.

"Say what you like, but that bottle's only a third of the way gone for a reason." He makes to leave, pausing in the doorway. "And hurry the fuck up, will you? I know a place we can go to that's a little more private."

I'm this close to smashing the equivalent of liquid gold over the flame-thrower's head and saying to hell with it. Yet I follow regardless, because I have no other plan and I'd be a fool to think I knew this place better than he did in only my first few days living here. None of tonight is turning out the way I wanted it to and I'm beyond irritated with the knowledge of it, even with the purloined bottle of alcohol in my hand it takes a concentrated effort on my part not to sulk. It's only nine o'clock and twilight has set in, shadows stretching in through the windows as we make our way upstairs and down another set of long corridors. He pauses before what looks to be a storage closet and opens it revealing, to my amazement, a darkened stairwell. "Where does that lead?" I ask quietly, peering up into the murky blackness above.

His lighter is in his palm as he sets his foot on the bottom step, flicking it open with a snap. "The attic, and then the roof." Starlight and whiskey, like last summer. God I missed Maggie. John drew a ball of fire into his hand and closed the Zippo, orange flames dancing merrily as we navigated the stairs under the glow. We walked the length of the attic in silence, footsteps quiet and controlled as we passed above the dormitories below. Somewhere in the back of my mind I wondered if Kitty and Jubilee could hear us, the prospect of Kitty phasing up through the floor quickened my pace towards the lone window at the other end.

"What's wrong, Mills, afraid of the dark?" I glared at the back of his head futilely, knowing my reaction to be useless. He laughed quietly, closing his fist on the flame as soon as we reached the window, which swung open with a heave. Stepping out onto the flat expanse of the roof, John moved aside and allowed me room to pass by, though barely.

"Perhaps you wouldn't mind moving sometime? Unless you're fond of the idea of your alcohol provider slipping and falling three stories," I raised an eyebrow coolly, looking about. The flat patch of roof we had to ourselves wasn't very large, but it was enough to sit comfortably and relax under the sky. This place, I decided, was my new getaway when things became too cumbersome down below in the dorms. I was well aware that John had probably staked it for himself, but he could fuck off if he didn't want my company. Or I could blast him with the hose I felt dripping water all that way down below. The idea made me smirk as he closed the window somewhat and sat against the wall below it, looking up at me with a bored, expectant gaze.

"Are you going to stand there all night? Sit down, you're making me nervous."

"And if I want to?" I quirked an eyebrow again, being facetious, satisfied when he rolled his eyes and sighed irritably. My point made, I moved and sat down next to him, a decent amount of space between our two bodies as I unwrapped the bottle of whiskey I had in my scarf. This was, after all, St. John Allerdyce, goodness knows I didn't want him to breathe on me too heavily. Uncorking the bottle I held it out to him. I may be many things, but I'll never have anyone call me impolite. I am always gracious, even to a complete dickwad like Prometheus. He accepted it wordlessly and took a large swig, wincing slightly as he swallowed.

"Not bad, is it?" I asked when he handed it back, taking a small drink. "My father drinks this stuff, it's not the highest ranking brand, but it's pretty damn good for commercial alcohol."

"Considering that I'm usually chucking back Jack or Wild Turkey, it's all right," he acknowledges, looking ahead and out into the landscape beyond. I hand him the bottle back and sit up, fishing around for my cigarette pack. Finally prying them out from my jean pocket I take one out, patting my pockets for a lighter and finding none. Goodness, I really am incapable.

"Here," John extends his hand, Zippo open and flaming in the other as he sets the bottle of whiskey between his thighs. I give him my cigarette and watch in the failing light as he sets it between his lips, before I have any real time to protest, bringing the flame to the tip and inhaling as it catches. For a brief instant I'm mesmerized, watching him breathe in, the hollows of his cheeks constricting momentarily as he flicks the lighter closed and pulls the cigarette away from his mouth. He lets the smoke out slowly, allowing it to drift in lazy curls up past those full lips of his and into the air surrounding us. Without a word he passes the cigarette back to me and takes another sip of whiskey. This time he barely flinches.

"Thank you," I say, finding my voice after a moment. I take a long pull off the end of the cigarette, blowing the smoke out in a long, even stream. Whatever I'd managed to quell within me before starts to rail and shake against its bonds and I'm doing my best to ignore it clamoring below. I take the bottle from him and sigh contentedly. "It's fucking gorgeous outside. Do you come up here often?"

He shrugs noncommittally and for a second he reminds me of Logan. I grin softly into the approaching darkness and take another drag. "Sometimes. I usually come up here if I want to get away from Bobby and Rogue hogging the room or if there's nothing on TV. It's a good, quiet place, there aren't many of them here."

I snorted. "Noted. This place if a fucking beehive of activity, my room included." The buzz from the alcohol was light, but noticeable, I could feel it coursing through my veins with that soft, sweet burn so copiously attributed to fine liquor. Even John was starting to loosen up, something I'd never really witnessed before. He sat more easily, his breathing free and unburdened. He wasn't uptight like Bobby, but he definitely had a lot on his shoulders. Fuck, who didn't at this school? Inhaling off my cigarette again I was almost startled when he plucked the thing from my lips, setting it between his own again.

"You know, I can give you one if you really want it." I wasn't as annoyed as I should have been, the whiskey made everything smooth in me, laid me back without concerns and the vast multitude of irritations that should have assailed me, but refused to under the circumstances. I took another sip, settling the bottle in the space between us.

"Nah," he let the smoke curl up and out again, like flames, caressing and dissolving. "Yours will do."

The way he said it was so matter of fact I found myself hard-pressed to argue, but lacked the volition to really go all out with it. If anything I almost admired him for it. "Ass. You make it sound like I'm not good for anything else."

He smirked. "Well, you haven't exactly proved yourself otherwise. So far you've sort of been a huge pain in the ass, you got me landed in detention and everything. Fuck, Bobby hasn't even gotten me in detention with Summers yet."

"What, and ruin his sparkling, pristine record? Please," I chuckled. "Bobby getting a detention would signify the beginning of the Apocalypse. I'd be freaking out listening for horse hooves."

And then it happened, John laughed. Not his usual snide, sarcastic snicker, but a truly genuine sound that almost seemed to erupt forth from inside him. It baffled me, and I sat there, trying not to gape as he spoke. "God, that's so fucking true. He's such a fucking goody-two-shoes, it's so lame."

I resisted the urge to break out into song with Adam Ant and shrugged. "But he's your roommate and you're friends. Honestly, it could be worse."

John shook his head, bringing my cigarette to his lips before passing it back to me. "Christ, don't I fucking know it." I want to implore him to continue, but he's got that sour expression on his face and I know that now probably isn't the greatest of times to pry. I mean, good god, the last time I did something like that Logan looked like he wanted to hurl himself out of his goddamn truck. I raise the cigarette to my mouth one last time before crushing the filter out on the roof, washing down the smoky flavor with a different sort of burn.

"You're from around here, aren't you?" I ask, staring up at the sky now as the stars begin to blink into existence.

He sighs. "New Jersey, actually."

"Same fucking difference. Well, virtually everything is when you come all the way out from California."

"Right, the Valley or some shit like that?" I can almost hear him roll his eyes.

I sigh. "Fuck the Valley, I hated that place. It's so goddamn hot there, and everyone's a jackass, it's so ridiculously over-rated." I pause, toying with the bottle label. "Maggie and I always used to talk about packing up, heading north for college, to San Francisco or something where it actually rains for more than a month out of the year. The desert is so miserable, then again, you'd probably love it. You probably like heat, don't you?"

He's got his lighter out again, moving it around in his palm contemplatively. "I don't mind it, it's not too bad. As long as it's not fucking freezing and there's no humidity I'm usually set."

"I presume New Jersey's out of the question, then?"

"I'd rather shoot myself in the fucking head then go back there. Or be human, I'm not really sure which is worse," the bottle of whiskey sounds a bit less full now as he sets it back down. That was one thing I hadn't really understood in my coming here, the blatant sort of distaste and fear a lot of the students had for human beings. I mean, granted, everyone has their issues, but to loathe an entire race for the stupidity of a select few? I'm guessing this view is due to my having been brought up in a more liberal household and not having been chased from my hometown by an angry mob with pitchforks running after me. We lapse into silence for a few minutes lost in our own thoughts and consumed with the warmth of the whiskey we've been passing the last half hour. Drinking usually makes me contented though, providing I'm not in a completely wretched mood to begin with, and soon enough I'm practically bursting with silly glee, singing to myself and the glory of the night.

_"The doctor says I'm livin'  
On precious borrowed time,  
With all the time I'm givin'  
To liquor beer and wine.  
The X-rays of my liver,   
look like molded old Swiss cheese,  
My heart pumps blood and alcohol,  
Through hardened arteries."_

John gives me a funny look, ending my singing effectively. "What the hell is that shit? It sounds like you're gonna start wailing about how your wife left you," he chuckles. God, we're both drunk on a school night, we're going to get so much shit for this from the Professor tomorrow.

"It's the Reverend Horton Heat, now mind yourself. I won't tolerate you speaking ill of him in my presence." It sounds so preposterous leaving my mouth I giggle, despite whatever sincerity I was trying to convey.

"Or what, you'll sing at me some more? Though I do admit, you sound better than Bobby crooning along to Sting, ugh." He shudders and I laugh again before deadpanning.

"I could make you piss yourself."

Now John laughs, hard. After a few seconds he takes in my expression and stops. "Wait, are you serious?"

I shake my head, chortling at the look on his face. "I don't fucking know, I've never tried it. What, are you up for being my guinea pig?"

"Fuck no. I may look stupid, but I've never intentionally pissed myself and I don't plan on starting it any time soon." Realizing the drunken hilarity of his words we relapse into our mirth.

I stop after a bit, finally managing to catch my breath through the aching of my ribs. I turn my head towards him, regarding him in the darkness. "You know, you're not such an asshole when you're drunk. It's kind of nice."

He snorts. "You seem to absolutely love me when I'm killing vital organs, Mills."

Oh, whine about it some more. Honestly, some people can never let things go. "I was teasing, you jackass. I just meant- I don't know, it's nice when we're not constantly one-upping each other for who has the wittiest comeback, and let's see who can infuriate the other the furthest before we come the blows over the dinner table?"

"Really?" He seemed thoughtful for a moment, though it was hard to really make anything out in the dark that had settled in. "Hm… remind me to go straight-edge, then. I'm obviously not doing my job properly as resident jackass of the school."

I guffawed in disgust. "Oh god, John, that's fucking awful! You know the score, man! They're the worst thing on the musical hierarchy! That's just, oh god, I think I'll be sick!"

I could hear the smirk in his voice as he brought his lighter out, flicking it open and closed, playing with the flame as he lit it up. "Turn your head the other way then, I don't want you barfing on me."

"Oh John, you're so gentlemanly." If words were cloth you could have wrung the sarcasm out of my voice and hung it up to dry. "I was just kidding you ass, don't get your panties in a twist."

"Trust me, if there were panties around, I wouldn't be twisting them."

"Probably not," I mussed. If he was so keen on getting a pair, it probably wasn't wise that I mentioned owning any. Ever. "Perhaps you'd be mopping your brow with them after a hard days work? Or writing down to-do lists on the backside?"

"I can think of better uses," he replied smugly.

"Can you really? Somehow I doubt that, St. John, and not due to the intended piety of your name, either."

The air changed between us and he turned, shifting his body to face me. "What, you don't think I've ever been with a girl before?"

"With a girl, god no," I giggled into my hand, suddenly unnerved by the intensity of his gaze. Christ, some people get uppity at the most asinine things when they're inebriated.

"Well, I have been with one, a few, actually." His gaze was challenging, insolent bordering on smug.

"All right… you want a cookie for that Allerdyce or is there a reason you're telling me this? I mean, I'm glad to know you're a healthy young guy and all, but you hardly seem the type to regale the few sexual experiences you've had at a moments' notice." I smiled, a hint of mischief playing in my expression. "Besides, I don't think Jubilee wants to hear me giggle every time she walks into the room."

For a second John looked completely and utterly flummoxed. It's a look, I might add, that I find rather becoming upon him, along with the notion that I know more than he does. Egos aside, he finally talks. "You- how the fuck did you know that? You weren't even here, that was like, a year ago." He stops for a moment, then quickly continues. "We only made out, I mean, it's not like it was anything huge." He takes another sip of the Maker's Mark. "What about you? You got a status?"

"A 'status'? God, you make it sound so formal." I don't usually talk to people about this sort of thing unless it's in an extremely candid environment. But he had that intense gaze of his going on again, and he flicked his lighter open, igniting a flame and palming it as before, giving the entire feel of it all this strange, burning sensation. Good god, I really am drunk. "If you're asking if I've ever been with anyone sexually, the answer is yes."

"Awesome, you and I can be the school's fucking resident non-virgins, then," he laughed.

I cocked my head to the side, regarding him. "What made you bring it up? I mean, fuck, you're arrogant, but you don't usually go off harkening your sordid tales to the nearest person."

John shrugs, extinguishing the flame. "Just felt like it, I guess. Liquor loosening the tongue and all that shit." God forbid that he ever tells me he's comfortable around me or anything. I look down at my watch squinting at it through the night.

"Mother of all holy fuck, it's almost eleven!"

I'm met with a yawn in response. "Your point?"

"I- well, we missed curfew. Aren't we going to be in a whole shitload of trouble in a few hours?" In response he moved himself forward, away from the wall, and laid down, putting his hands behind his head.

"Not if you can hold your liquor and don't fuck up tomorrow," he fingered the end of my scarf, which lay discarded by his chest, for a second before bunching it up and putting it beneath his head as a makeshift pillow.

"What about Bobby?"

He looked up at me as if I were either mad or a very small, stupid child. "Fuck Bobby. He knows better than to expect me to follow all the rules here. He'd probably freak out if I came back in before midnight."

"Well, I'm really not too keen on scaring Jubilee, Kitty or Rogue, but I don't think they'd be too thrilled with my stumbling in drunkenly either. I'll sober up a bit before heading in." I corked the bottle and leaned back, stretching as leisurely as possible without causing too much pain.

Silence fills the space between us as the minutes pass by. I'm trying to will awareness to my limbs, urge my body out of its drunken relaxation to no seemly avail. I give up, knocking my head lightly against the brick. John's flicking his lighter again, eyes gleaming with starlight. Welcome to Mutant High, I toast the sky quietly, though I've no alcohol in my hand to commemorate it, I'm quite finished with my exploits for the evening. My silent salutation goes unnoticed and I'm not bothered by it in the least.

I turn my gaze down to the boy beside me, flicking his lighter, presumably lost in his own thoughts. His life here seems almost surrounded by opposites, his roommate, me, the very nature of this place. He hasn't let himself go far enough to become the element he manipulates, but he could quite easily if he pleased. It's an interesting notion to entertain and part of me wonders why I've spent almost every single night here with him. Infuriating as he is, I almost enjoy his company. In fact, I'd be lying if I said I hadn't liked drinking with him tonight. It was almost as if we were equals for this bit of time, only a slight lean towards the antics we usually prepare ourselves with when we're around one another. One on one, St. John Allerdyce and I actually manage to get along. I can see the headlines of the school paper now; _"Sworn enemies are really BFF! See page six for more details!" _

"What?"

I didn't even realized I'd laughed at the thought until he looked up at me, a hint of curiosity written upon his features. I shake my head. "Don't worry about it, I'm just contentedly under the influence. I hope I'm not invading whatever deep thought you're partaking in."

He sits up, stretching his arms above his head for a second before moving to stand. "You're probably one of three people on campus to actually credit me with thinking, much less anything above eating, sleeping and going out of my way to piss people off. Come on, we should head in before Dr. Grey does her telepathic once-over of the school and realizes we're still out."

He extends his hand down to me and I blink at it before accepting it and lifting myself up. Flesh makes contact with flesh for a brief moment and I'm thoroughly startled with myself when I begin to wonder if he moisturizes. He bends down to retrieves my scarf off the ground and steps toward me, wrapping it carefully back around my neck. The simple kindness of the act touches me as he lifts my hair out from beneath it, making sure everything is in its right place. He's move observant than any of us here give him credit for, and I want to express my gratitude towards him for it.

Before I can do anything other than stand there awkwardly, though, he moves the bottle out of the way of the window and opens it again, moving back inside. I see the light of fire spring into existence and I follow quietly, loathe to break the calm that's settled amiably between us. It's his way of saying "thank you", I realize, and it brings a smile to my face. He reaches out for my hand again, the other one held aloft, cupping flame, and leads me carefully through the maze of the attic and down the stairs. I try my best not to hold it tighter than the decency of our relationship allows as we navigate our way along in the silence.

Extinguishing the fire, we stand still for a moment at the bottom step, listening intently. It feels like there's spiders crawling up the back of my neck, but I know the feeling of the hairs prickling there and I try to ignore the sensation working its way into my stomach. I cannot deal with silly trivialities at the moment, the situation is too tenuous as is and I know it. After a minute of waiting, breaths quiet in the close quarters of the staircase, he opens the door and we emerge to the emptiness of the hall. Look both ways before crossing out into the empty traffic of the mansion, and we do, ears strained, listening for any sound other than the two of us trying to be as quiet as possible. Even my heartbeat sounds overly-amplified in my present state, quickening for a moment as he drops my hand in what seems like an afterthought when we make it round the corner.

I almost expect to run smack into Logan, or Professor Summers if God really, truly hated me, but the coast is clear and I'm not the only one sighing with relief. I bite back a chuckle as we carry on, sticking close in the semi-darkness of the corridors. We finally reach the fork in our proverbial road and I stop, looking up at him. I move my mouth without sound and I know he sees the words "thank you" appear when he gives me a nod, a variant of his trademark smirk ghosting on his face. He leans down for a moment, his breath tickling my cheek as he whispers softly into my ear. "We should do that again sometime, I know where Munroe stashes her tequila."

I grin outright, nodding as he pulls his face back. He turns to leave, giving me a wave before he's around another corner and gone from my sight. This is an interesting double life, one I'm more than happy to lead as I mull things over on the way back into my room. We'll be back to our usual banter in the morning, of that I'm certain, but I can't help the sensation of knowing that he may just be one of the best friends I'll be making at this place. It's surreal, considering who we are, and especially the way we behave around one another, but I feel it in my marrow and I know it to be true.

Between him and Logan, I keep decidedly peculiar company, and when you throw the others in there, Piotr, Jubilee, Kitty and Rogue, I have an emporium of oddities, a full spectrum of human nature for my viewing pleasure. Smiling, happy with myself and my lot in life here in this grand mansion in Westchester, New York, I go to the door of my dorm. Opening it soundlessly, I step inside, readying myself for the small bit of sleep I'm about to receive before a volley of classes tomorrow and a lecture I'm positive, at this point, is worth it. Nerves buzzing happily, I remove my socks and shoes quietly, throwing my scarf up on my dresser and stripping out of my pants. I don't bother changing into my pajamas, the weariness of the day hitting me like a Mach truck the moment I crawl into bed. Three minutes later and the light in my brain flicks itself off. My last conscious thoughts are of how strange and ironic it should be that it sounds distinctly like the closing of a Zippo before the darkness of the room consumes me and I cease to be for those few precious hours before dawn.  
-----

Lyrics belong to Reverend Horton Heat's 'Liquor, Beer & Wine'.

Again, forgive me for the length of this latest installment, I couldn't find a seemly point to break it up when I finally realized just how long it was. Also, Reviews Love. Take care!


	11. This Apparatus Must Be Unearthed

Author's Notes- Due to a recent influx of responsibilities (mainly work and school related) I've been unfortunately unable to finish this last chapter until now, something I feel a bit guilty about considering. I'm working two jobs right now, and school starts next week, so while I cannot promise daily, or even weekly, updates under some circumstances, I do plan on keeping things rolling regardless. Thanks to all you fantabulous people who reviewed, as it means the world to me to receive feedback, I graciously applaud your patience and support. This is another long chapter, fourteen pages, so I hope it will make up for the delay. Suffice to say that shit goes down. Thanks again, and please, don't hesitate to drop a review and let me know what you think. Enjoy!

Disclaimer- I still own jack and the powers that be know it. Don't sue me and I'll love you long time. Or something.

"_Every time I think of you  
I feel shot right through with a bolt of blue.  
It's no problem of mine  
But it's a problem I find,  
Living a life that I can't leave behind.  
But there's no sense in telling me  
The wisdom of the fool won't set you free.  
But that's the way that it goes  
And it's what nobody knows,  
Well every day my confusion grows."_  
-New Order, 'Bizarre Love Triangle'

Chapter 11- "This Apparatus Must Be Unearthed"

I awoke six hours later, eyes snapping open, alert in the early-dawn light that flooded into the room. I felt conscious, alive and well rested, with no headache or any other post-alcoholic grievances to weigh me down. Needless to say, I was pleasantly surprised. Taking this as a sign of goodwill from whatever fate had in store for me, I quietly got up, grabbing some clothes and making my way into the bathroom. Turning on the shower, I set my things down on the sink and got undressed, barely waiting for the water to warm before I stepped in under the spray allowing the warming water to rinse over my body and clear away the impurities that had gathered there the day before. I glanced down at the bruises on my ribcage, gently feeling the tender flesh on my neck, and wished that, even for a minute, I might have Logan's gift rather than my own; at times like this, all it served to do was direct the water flow more levelly.

The memories of last night floated up and into recollection as I scrubbed myself clean, coloring my thoughts like so many of the glazed tiles that lined the shower cubicle. John and I, we had a bond, an unspoken pact of sorts, some tangible and concrete understanding between us. Insofar as the others knew, we loathed one another, arch-enemies, opposites. But in the presence of each other we could be civil, no bared teeth, cutting words or narrowed eyes. Alone, obscene as it sounded, we could be friends.

Perhaps it was the reality of taking out all the extra elements, the other people and thus erasing all former impressions and scenarios from the slate. I only knew what he allowed me to know, and what people told me of him, and his position was likewise in the sense that both of us were fairly helpless against one another under the circumstances. He recognized that, had taken it into his consideration and acted accordingly, and while it should be known that St. John Allerdyce does not, under any circumstances, let his guard slip unnecessarily around people he has yet to thoroughly feel out (in the figurative sense, though with some cases I doubt he'd mind it in the literal connotation either) and discern. The boy is sharp, he's a fucking miracle blade as far as I'm concerned, massaging shampoo into my scalp for a few moments before rinsing it off. I sigh, understanding tapping me impatiently upon my shoulder. Despite how silly it's bound to seem, he and Logan are so alike sometimes I could scream. I keep my silence, though, and continue showering until I've finished, turning off the water with a flick of my wrist and stepping out onto the bathmat to towel dry.

I pull the clothing on carefully. I'm not aching as badly as I was a few days ago, or when I first came here, for that matter, but falling from that desk in Summers' room the other night definitely didn't give me any warm, cuddly feelings when I tried to get comfortable. Fuck, even sitting down makes me irritable. I'll have to go to Dr. Grey and see if she's got any Tylenol, as I'm out. A few minutes later and I'm in a new pair of jeans from yesterday's shopping bonanza, an old Interpol tour shirt slouched on without much thought while I brush out my hair and make ready to go downstairs, tiptoeing out of the restroom. I pick up my school books quietly, grabbing the homework I have yet to complete for the aforementioned English teacher's class later that morning, stepping into my sneakers and out into the hall. It's about ten to seven right now, and the more rational part of my brain is howling at me, wondering what the fuck I'm doing awake right now.

Jesus, I wish I knew.

And it only figures that one of the six students currently in the dining hall at the moment is a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed Robert Drake. I could slap myself, but that thousand watt smile of his manages to stun me momentarily and I forget myself in my current irritation. I'm going to blame a lot of things on those perfect pearly-whites of his, and I think I'm well within my rights. They're damn-near hypnotic and I find myself having lost all memory as to how I end up at his table with a tray of food and my school books.

"Good morning, Adrian," my retinas scream as The Teeth get whiter and The Smile gets brighter. A chorus of fucking angels pop out of the sky and sing whenever Bobby smiles, and I find myself giving him a lop-sided grin in response, despite myself.

"'Morning Bobby. What's up?" I go through the motions. If it were anyone else, sans Piotr perhaps, I'd have asked them when they planned on getting their head checked, but this is Popsicle Boy, and his current state is hardly unexpected.

"Just came back in from getting cleaned up after my morning jog," he beams, taking a sip of juice and chomping down on a spoonful of-

You have got to be kidding me. He's even eating motherfucking _Wheaties._

"That's awesome," I manage not to choke on my eggs, opening my notes to the class work that I'd completed yesterday and what questions of the homework I'd managed to finish before my impromptu lunchtime practice session. I pen the answers in a quick, messy scrawl, not really giving too much care to the task at hand as a thought crosses my mind. It's a little after four in the morning back west, but I owe someone a phone call and now's as good a time as ever to reach Maggie Moore on that horrid cell phone of hers. Scrambling to collect my preoccupied thoughts, as well as my things, I quickly bade Bobby a good morning and went off to the foyer where a student phone sat neatly upon a table in a corner, out of the way of the passing folk heading down to breakfast. I sighed gratefully, noting it vacant for the first time in days, and sat on the stiff chair beside it, picking the receiver up off the cradle and dialing the digits I had memorized better than my own social security number.

It rang four times before a groggy "Hello?" reached my ears and it was all I could do to keep myself in my chair.

"…Maggie?"

The voice on the other end became clear instantly. "Holy shit, Adrian? Adrian, is that you?"

I grimaced at the volume of my friend's tone. "Yeah, Mags, it's me, calm down. I'm all right, and I'm so, so sorry I didn't call you sooner."

Maggie was more prone to tears than outright, blatant anger, so I was thoroughly surprised when her words met my ears across the country. "You'd fucking better be, Adrian Mills! I was worried fucking _sick_ about you, I thought you were dead, that some psycho had you hanging in his closet, or that the cops had caught you and turned you over to the Labs, or that Jeffrey and his fucking gang of dickless, witless assholes had tracked you down- shit, Adrian, I was so fucking scared-"

Shit, Jeffery, I'd almost forgotten about him over my last few days in my beloved mutant biosphere. "They haven't done anything to you, have they?" I interrupted her. "Maggie? They haven't hurt you, have they?"

Silence, spiced with a bit of static for poignancy, greeted me in response.

"Maggie," the students walking around me were tuned out as a sick, awful weight settled into my belly. I could barely hear myself speak as a faint buzzing sound grounded itself in the back of my mind. "Maggie, what did they do to you?"

"Where are you?"

"Don't change the fucking subject on me Maggie, what the fuck happened?" People were starting to give me strange looks now, but I couldn't have cared less. Rage, soft, dark and palpable wormed it's way into me, saturated my senses. Nausea gripped me as I heard her begin to cry quietly on the other end of the telephone.

"I'm sorry, Adrian, I… I couldn't…"

My voice came out in a low whisper, horrified. "Mags, what did they _do_ to you?"

"They…" it was all she could manage between choked sobs and sniffles for a good minute or so. I cursed myself, damning my cowardice and the selfish stupidity that had lead me here.

Various grim scenarios raced through my mind, none of them aiding my current state as I struggled to bite back the scream that had hooked it's claws into the rear of my throat. Maggie, my friend, the girl I'd met and grown up with all those years ago on the playground, she was my constant companion. And yet I'd left her there, back in Los Angeles, to the mercy of whatever those bastards had been planning to do to her, I'd turned my back on her and run. Responsibility set in and it took all I had to bite my tongue so as not to tell her how sorry I was. Apologizing wouldn't do anything for her now, my hollow words would fail her just as I had and I hated myself for it. Gasping for breath, she managed to get herself under control long enough to choke something out.

"Adrian, they _hurt me…_ oh god, Adrian, I didn't know what to do. I just, where are you?"

Quiet, a dead sound spoke where my voice should have been. "I'm in New York. I'm… there's a place here that helps people like me, I…" I couldn't bring myself to continue. Not now, not after this.

I heard muffled noises through the receiver as Maggie calmed herself. "Shit, Adrian, I woke my mom up. I have to go. Call me back later, all right?"

I went to reply the affirmative, but the line cut and I was instead met with a long beeping sound and an empty void. Numb, I put the phone back in it's cradle and stood. It was half past seven now, students and teachers were up milling about the school preparing for classes as I remained still in that corner, trying to make sense of it all, to sift through the emotions that barraged my mind and choked the breath from my lungs. Without a word I walked out the door, leaving my things where I'd put them.

The moment my feet hit the pavement I ran, bolting around the side of the mansion and off into the forest surrounding the grounds. The earth was treacherous, but not so much as I, and I found myself navigating past tree roots and over the uneven soil with the ease of those damned by conscience. Branches lashed out at me, trees threw themselves in my path as if to lay my guilt before me at face value but I know now the weight of my soul and it terrifies me. Nothing, not even John Doe Psycho Rapist holding a knife to my neck, possesses me the way this newfound knowledge does. And yet I knew it, somewhere in the back of my mind, I'd known that this had happened to her for days, and I'd done nothing. I'd idled around, procrastinating, adjusting to a new life without that one person I'd held most precious to me. I was a fraud, I was a hypocrite, I was filth, a ruddy coward through and through and, god willing, I'd be mistaken for a deer within the next thirty seconds and be shot by some ignorant hick with a gun. But the bullet never came and I sank deeper and deeper into the growth surrounding me, stumbling forward at a breakneck pace with blind accuracy.

It wasn't until my shoes skid on the slippery rocks below that I realized my error as I pitched forward, falling face-first into the stream in front of me with a cry. The water, cold, harsh and unforgiving, ran rampant over me in the shallows as I floundered, pushing myself up in the three-foot deep pool. It was almost summer and yet the water was biting and icy, stinging my skin like nettles as I fought for footing on the muddy rocks. _I failed her, I failed her, oh god, Maggie, I'm so fucking sorry…_

I looked down at myself, dirty palms scratched and bleeding from the sharp gravel beneath my shoes, my elbows and knees having faired likewise. It was only then that I noticed the hot, burning sensation traveling down my face and I realized that I was crying. Bitter, heaving sobs wracked my frame as I settled myself into the murky shallows of the water, clawing at my face with the suffocating sense of self-loathing misery that now reigned supreme. They'd hurt her. Those bastards had hurt her so badly she could barely talk about it, my Maggie, the girl who had always been so vocal and outspoken. And I hadn't been there to protect her. I hadn't been there for her when she needed me the most, after all those years of close, binding friendship, of sisterhood. Finally, I let loose the wail that I'd held at bay throughout the phone conversation, the scream echoing around me as I voiced myself in that most primal of ways. Eyes clenched tight, I drew a shuddering breath. When I opened them I almost choked, gazing at the area around me.

The water no longer pulled at my sodden clothes, it's frigid tinge left my limbs as I brought my hand to my mouth in what can only be described as dumb-founded shock. The small riverbed was dry as a bone beneath my feet, the mud and silt caking the area cracked and arid where I stood. Looking up and down the length of the stream, I gaped in wide-eyed astonishment. It wasn't until then that I ventured a look at the surrounding banks and wrapped my arms around myself, trying to still the shakes that took hold of me. Everything around me, the plants, the trees, even the goddamn thistles I'd almost run into a little down the way, were brown and dead, brittle shells of the things they'd once been. Dry leaves clung to lifeless branches, fluttering and falling in the warm breeze, an eerie silence reigned supreme as I stared stupidly around me.

Everything was…

"Adrian Mills, what have you _done?"_ I breathed, barely trusting myself to speak coherently at the sight before me. This had to be a dream, all of this had to be some hideous, alcohol induced nightmare that I'd be sure to soak John's pants for during breakfast. I stooped gently, reaching out to grasp a handful of silt that lay on the ground before me. Dry, soft sand particles filtered through my fingers as I gazed wordlessly at it, my mind a horrified blank. My legs gave way beneath me and I fell to me knees on the dry clay below, a dull buzzing in my ears, trying desperately to figure out what had just happened to me, what I'd done to the land around me. There are no deserts in New York, I reminded myself. Good god, Professor Munroe was never going to let me near her gardens again.

For the love of all that is holy, where did the water go?

Whatever it is I've done, however I could have possibly achieved such a feat, it's taken it's toll on me as I continue to slump to the ground, exhausted. Shock has parted and made way for acceptance as I feel the back of my head lay firm on the dried-up river bed. There are stones beneath me, poking into my back and into my tender ribs, but I can barely focus my eyes any more as I gaze upward, through the dead trees and into the bright blue of the sky. There's not a cloud in sight, I manage to observe, vision swimming in the excess of whatever force I've unwittingly used. I try to stretch my senses out, feeling with my mind for whatever water might be nearby, but it's as though a drought has come and wiped it all from the surrounding land. This awful blight I've created has a familiar ring to it and, yes Dr. Grey, I'm sure I could tell you it's relation to protein synthesis in just a moment. I'm not feeling well, ma'am, my head is spinning. I think I'll lie down for a moment and catch my breath in the shade. It must be the humidity, Dr. Grey, I'm not used to it in the slightest. My god, you're not even here at all, are you? I'm hallucinating, I'm loosing my mind. But I fear it's already lost but for the sensation of something slipping within me, sliding into blackness.

I awaken at mid-day to a shadow kneeling beside me, shading me from the harsh sun above. There's a hand on my shoulder, shaking me roughly awake and I start, sitting up fast and regretting it as soon as my vision starts to blacken around the edges less than a moment later.

"Mills, you all right? C'mon kid, say something."

I shake my head, chasing the darkness away and looking at the man stooped level beside me with something akin to disbelief. "Logan?"

He nods. Those damn sideburns of his are unmistakable. "You got it, darlin'. You all right?"

I run a hand over my face, guilt welling up within me. "No, I'm not. Everything's gone to shit, Logan. I'm even beginning to think Summers' curses his goddamn whiskey. When did you get back?"

"A few hours ago. Chuck sent me out to look for you, said you had an episode earlier on in the day and ran." I catch his gaze, the sturdy hazel making me lucid. It centers me, bringing back the memories of the morning and I find myself fighting to keep my already weakening composure.

"This isn't an 'episode', it's a fucking wasteland. I… I don't know what happened." The horror is back again, the full realization that this was all my doing. I, Adrian Mills, have created upstate New York's very own mini-Death Valley. "I thought I manipulated water. I make toilets overflow, Logan, not- not _this!"_ I sweep my hand towards the banks of the river, nearing hysteria. I want off this fucking crazy pony ride, I don't know how much more of it I can deal with; Maggie, my powers going ape shit on me, this is just beyond excessive.

"Calm down, kid, you're fine. Let's get you back to the mansion and we'll get you sorted out, all right? Don't worry, just let me help you up." Logan stands, and when he sees that I barely have the energy to do the same, my Knight in Denim Armor scoops me up like I'm in nursery school and carries me through the forest. A great part of me is embarrassed with the treatment, the fact that I can barely sit up straight, much less walk, but Logan keeps mum about it. He doesn't make fun of me for my immobility, nor does he comment on the state of the wood surrounding us as we push forward through it, back toward the school. I start to see green things again about a hundred feet into our journey and the relief that floods over me is tangible. Floored and worn out, I lean my head on Logan's shoulder and drift off again.

I open my eyes an a few hours later, time seeming to pop in and out of reality around me, indefinite. Or perhaps I'm the one doing all the inter-dimensional traveling, I feel like I'm in one of the old _Star Wars_ movies. A quick look around me and I find myself in an unnaturally sterile room, the atmosphere creeping me out quite sufficiently as I feel my heart-rate increase nervously. I have no idea where I am, though the first thought that pops into my mind is that, somehow, I've been found and captured by a Lab due to my earlier debacle in the forest. Trying to remove myself from the steely grips of the panic that's making it's way 'round my bloodstream, I whisper out into the silence. "Logan?"

"He'll be right back, he just went to get something for you to eat," a voice says to my left and I try not to start too badly as I turn my head to gaze at it's owner from my vantage point.

"Dr. Grey?" The red-haired woman smiles comfortingly, approaching me.

"I'm sorry if waking up here frightened you, but I felt it was best if you were monitored, to be sure you were recovering properly," she explained, looking over some charts on a clipboard she had balanced elegantly in midair. Aside from a few displays in her science class I'd never really had the privilege of seeing her telekinesis so close at hand, it was amazing. "The Professor heard you calling out to me earlier in the day while you were hallucinating, before you fainted in the woods. He's the one who sent Logan to retrieve you."

I nodded in understanding. "Thank you for taking care of me, Dr. Grey. I hope I haven't been too much trouble." I was attempting to be as gracious as possible, despite the cruel whispers in the back of my mind stating that I deserved no better than a bed of nails for all the strife I'd caused. I lowered my eyes to the foot of my bed, trying to keep myself focused.

"Adrian, I hope you don't mind my asking, but is something the matter? Something that might have triggered this side of your mutation?" Dr. Grey asked tentatively, knowing full well that she was obviously moving toward very sensitive subject matter. I bit my tongue.

Fingering the edge of the bed sheet, I concentrated on a plastic chair located across the room. "Please don't think it rude of me, doctor, but I can't really talk about it right now." Because really, how am I supposed to explain that I can sense the water in her body. That I can feel it there, registering in the back of my mind where I could not before.

Back at the river, I finally caught a glimpse of that shadow lurking in the corner of my vision, and holy fuck is it terrifying. I'm too drained to even begin to comprehend the repercussions of such a thing, and at the moment, I'm not really sure I want to. This shatters the security I found here, molds the entire experience at Charles Xavier's school into something far more weighty than I could have ever fathomed when I first arrived. I lie my head back, closing my eyes at the nervous wave of nausea that seizes my body. Is nothing sacred? Can nothing be spared these horrifying changes within myself? I hear the door open and shut with a soft click, Dr. Grey's murmured farewell as she exits the room. I don't even have to open my eyes to know he's there, I can feel the water in his body as he moves toward me and sits in the chair at my bedside.

"Feelin' better kid?"

I open my eyes and stare at the opposite end of the room with no small hint of resignation. "No." There's a silence that stretches on between us and I'm struggling to get a hold upon myself. Before my mutation surfaced the only thing I'd ever really had fear of was death and things that go bump in the night, all of that silly, immature bullshit kids get chills over. But with this added into the mix, this latest episode, Christ, I was afraid of _myself,_ of what I could do with or without meaning to. All of this raw power, it made me an enormous liability. And after what I'd done in the forest I had high doubts that anyone would ever think of me the same way again. My actions, even unconscious, had resulted in pure, mindless destruction of a rather awful scale and I could only imagine what the Professor would have to say about this. "I… I'm going to get thrown out, aren't I?"

Logan looked up at me as though I'd sprouted another head. "What the hell are you talkin' about, Mills?"

I toyed with the corner of my bed sheet absently, avoiding his eyes. "The forest, Logan, I- I'm dangerous. I shouldn't be around other people, not when I can do _that."_

"That's a load of crap, kid, and you know it. There are plenty of kids here with harmful mutations but we don't chuck 'em out the moment they screw up. You're here to learn how to control them, and that includes messing up every once in a while. Kid, look at me," I raise my gaze to peer up at him, my head bowed somewhat in my anxiousness. "I'm not tellin' you all of this just to make you feel better, all right? It's the truth and-"

"I could feel you when you walked in here." I state, cutting him off. He frowns slightly, brow furrowing in confusion. "A few feet outside the door, actually, I could sense you. Dr. Grey too. Probably everyone else if I concentrated hard enough."

My sentences are short, clipped like pinion wings as I feel the cold dread shifting around in my stomach. Logan appears somewhat surprised with this revelation. "How?"

"I can- it's strange, it wasn't like this before." I search my brain for the words. "Before, when I first came here, when my mutation first surfaced, I could sense liquid water in it's natural form. You know, like rivers, streams, piping and stuff, but now… I can sense it when it's in things, you know? While it's inside living things." I took a breath and forged ahead. "Like trees, plants, animals… and people."

He was quiet for a moment as he considered the ramifications of what I'd said. "You're gonna want to talk to the Professor, tell him everything that happened so that he can help you figure out how to control it. This isn't the end of the world, kid, you'll be all right." He must have noticed how tense I was, must have sensed that I hadn't told him everything, because he took one of my hands inside his larger ones, oddly devoid of callouses due to his healing factor, squeezing it gently.

"It's Maggie," I whispered after a moment, looking at the knuckles of his hand, connecting skilled fingers to a vast palm. "I finally called her today. She's my best friend; I've known her since we were kids." I paused, my jaw clenching involuntarily as the feelings from earlier on that day returned to me. "She's getting hurt for being close to me, for having a mutant as a friend. And there's nothing I can do, I can't protect her, I can't kick their asses for her like I used to. She's so vulnerable, and- fuck, Logan, she couldn't even tell me what they'd done to her!"

I look at my white-knuckled grip on his hand and loosen it immediately, deflating. I know that I probably haven't caused him much pain, I mean, the man has bones coated in fucking adamantium, but I still feel guilty and I apologize softly to him with lowered eyes. He shakes his head. "Kid, you've got nothin' to be sorry for. You've got someone out there who means the world to you and you can't help them when they need it most. It hurts. Granted, Chuck'll probably have better outlets in mind for that sort of thing that don't include killing off the forest, but I can't blame you for it. People have done worse."

"I know, it's just," I sigh. "What if… I mean, shit Logan, what if I do the same thing to a group of _people!_ I don't fucking understand it, I thought I just moved water around, and the next thing I know it's all evaporated and dry and dead and it's all my fault! And I know it's possible, I can feel it. It's like a fucking switch, all I have to do is flick it and it's done. It scares me," I finish quietly.

Someone once said _"With great power comes great responsibility", _though their name eludes me. I hope to god they're still alive though, because when I find them I'm going to slap them so goddamn hard their head spins around faster than Linda Blair in _The Exorcist._ I never asked for this, I never wanted this, and now that I have it I feel as though I'm the epitome of Public Enemy. Not to completely rip Weezer off and pull an 'El Scorcho' or anything, but really, the feeling is more daunting than any other concept I've encountered and all I feel is about thirty-two fucking flavors of helpless. I want to break something. "I need a cigarette," I mumble, for lack of anything else to say.

Logan shakes his head, standing. "Well, Red said you're free to go if you're feeling up to it."

I nod. "I'm fine, just a little sore." Sitting up gently I moved off the bed, bare feet hitting the cool floor as I raised myself slowly into a standing position.

Logan cocked a brow at me. "You still look pretty beat, kid."

"Please, don't make me stay here any longer. I'm still tired but," I looked about the room, a shudder climbing up my spine. "This place gives me the creeps, it's too sterile. Can I please go?"

I must look fucking pathetically desperate for nicotine, because Logan nods, helping me to the door and out, down the hall. I recognize this place as the same corridor Bobby, Rogue and I transversed the other day on our way to the Danger Room, the overall map of the school slowly starting to piece itself together in my mind. We walk slow and steady to the elevator, Logan keeping in step with me as I shuffle pale and wobbly in and press the button to take us up.

As we move, I can't help but hope I don't run into anyone, not when I'm like this. I feel terrible for having probably worried my roommates, but there's no way I'm naive enough to think that word of my incident earlier today hasn't made it's way 'round the school grape vine by now. Rogue mentioned to me briefly the other day between classes what had happened the night Logan had stabbed her, how literally half the school had acted as though she'd been carrying The Plague. Right now the last thing I need is to repeat the freakish-dangerous-new-kid stage that I'm bound to get slapped with the moment they all put two and two together. If only they realized that it didn't equal five, that I'm not a complete psychopath, but I doubt many would see things differently in their positions as the concerned populace. God, I am so fucked.

It's going on seven thirty now and most of the students are either in the rec. room, finishing homework, or hanging out elsewhere within the school. Logan takes me outside, depositing me briefly on a bench while he goes upstairs to fetch my jacket and cigarettes. I want to tell him not to bother, because I feel bad, having someone like him as my butler for the evening, but he's gone before I can get the words out and I find myself silently thanking the gods above for having found me so blessed as to bequeath me with a Knight in Denim Armor. He's a caretaker and friend of the finest quality, though I feel badly for the former. It seems as though ever since we've met Logan's been stuck on babysitting duty with me and it riles my pride a bit to think that I'm so incapable of sustaining myself. I could cop out and say that, while I'm proficient, he does it so much better than I ever could, but even thinking the words makes me shake my head wryly, indignant. He comes back a minute later, depositing a lighter and a half-empty pack of Camel Lights in my hands.

"I've gotta work in the garage for a bit. You need anything come and get me, all right kid?" He towers over me for a moment and I shoo him off.

"Go on then, I'm not dying of pneumonia or anything, you don't have to worry about playing nurse-maid with me," I chuckle. Then, serious, I look up at him. "Thank you, though. For everything."

He nods, a ghost of something resembling a smile hovering over his face for a moment before he walks back inside, leaving me to the approaching twilight and my impending lung cancer. I place the cigarette between my lips, lighting and inhaling, breathing in the smoky calm with a grateful expression. I'm almost half-way done with it when I hear a soft exclamation from behind me.

"My gawd, Adrian, where have ya' been?"

I muster a quick, slight grin as Rogue comes around to face me, her deep brown eyes searching my own pale gray ones. "Are ya' all right? We heard 'bout what happened earlier."

I grimace, taking another pull off the filter. "I'm sure everyone has at this point. Should I be expecting death-threats tomorrow or just weird, avoidant staring?"

She smiled softly, moving to sit beside me on the bench. "More of the last option, Ah'd imagine. They did th' same to me- well, ya' already know all 'bout that." We're silent for a moment before she speaks again. "Ah know ya' probably don't wanna talk about it right now, but if ya' ever need to, Ah'm here, all right? We don't think any different of ya'."

The last bit was unexpected, but immensely relieving. "Really? I turned half the forest into kindling, Rogue, that's never a good thing. I would understand if you guys weren't too keen on hanging out with me for it."

Rogue gave me a look and then laughed, shaking her head. "Ya really are a piece o' work, Adrian. C'mon, yer talkin' to the girl with deadly skin here, fer god's sake. None of us are perfect, even Bobby still freezes things when he gets really unnerved and Piotr's accidentally broken more dish wear 'n crushed more doorknobs than he cares to remember. Jubilee's got bed sheets and clothes with holes in 'em from her sparks and even Kitty still phases through things when ya' startle her."

"And I'm guessing John is the golden boy of control amongst our merry little band, then?" I shake my head, blowing a group of smoke rings off into the sky.

The other girl's lips curved upward into a triumphant smirk. "Ya' only say that 'cause ya' weren't here that week he singed his eyebrows off. Jubilee laughed so hard she almost wet her pants."

"I can't say I wouldn't have done the same in her position. They seem to have grown back all right though, nothing terribly bushy or unsightly," I stopped, wondering what in the hell I was doing admiring someone's eyebrows, John's, of all people. Rogue's expression turned sly for a moment as she feigned nonchalance.

"Yeah. So, where'd ya' go last night? Ya' missed curfew."

I shrugged stiffly, my ribs cutting me back down to size for my earlier antics. "I went up onto the roof and hung out for a while."

"By ya'self? Bobby said that John didn't come back in last night either."

I turn to meet her gaze, an eyebrow arched, though not in ill-humor, as I crush my cigarette out against the leg of the bench. "I thought Jubilee was the resident gossip hound of the school, Rogue, I'm surprised."

She laughed, an eternal southern belle. "Oh, trust me, Ah don't have anythin' on her. She's actually the one who pestered John 'bout it today, said that it was his fault ya' weren't comin' to classes 'cause he'd given ya' too much to drink or something."

I blinked. "Shit, she really knows her stuff, doesn't she? Well, about the alcohol, I mean." Rogue's eyebrows shot up a notch in mild surprise and I continued quickly. "I wasn't in classes for a completely unrelated reason, though. I can hold my liquor against Prometheus just fine I'll have her know."

"Wow, Ah never woulda thought you two, of all people, would be the type t' be gettin' all cozy up on the roof with a bottle a Jack," she grinned at my expression as I tried to protest, indignant. "Ah know, Ah know, it probably wasn't anythin' like that, Ah'm just givin' ya a hard time, and preparin' ya for the talkin' to Jubilee's gonna give ya' when she sees ya'."

"But nothing happened! Jesus, she knows what we're like, it was just sort of a cease-fire for a while, an excuse for two people in desperate need of alcohol to indulge themselves, if anything," I explained, recalling the surreally enjoyable experience that was the last night. "And it was Maker's Mark, not Jack Daniel's; Professor Summers drinks the good stuff."

Rogue gaped at me. "Adrian, ya' stole from Summers' stash? Ah- mah goodness, I didn't even think the man had it in 'im to drink."

"Well, he'd made a nice dent in it before we got into it, so I guess he's not so much of a stick in the mud as we give him credit for," I chuckled. "It's pretty funny, though, imagining him drunkenly stumbling about. If I concentrate hard enough I can see him in a karaoke bar wailing along to 'Girls Just Wanna Have Fun'."

The Mississippi native beside me burst into laughter. "Oh mah gawd, Ah'd pay to see that. Ah'd give up a year's allowance, Ah'm serious! Any time things got tough for us all we'd have to do is imagine Summers' shaken' his thing to Cyndi Lauper and we'd be fine."

"We should bring it up to Professor Xavier sometime as a motivational tool for the students," I cackled, wincing softly at the ache in my ribs. "Though at this point, I'm sure he already knows, what with the telepathy and all."

Rogue nodded. "It's a little unnerving sometimes."

"Only if you're paranoid about that sort of thing, like I am. I've been taking measures against it though, a bit of payback, if you will," I explained. "Every time I think of something remotely incriminating I immediately revert my mind to thinking of the cast of _Golden Girls_ engaged in a wild, sex romp. I'd imagine that's pretty fucking effective."

"Oh Jesus, Adrian, that's awful!" She made a face, laughing regardless. After a moment she looked up at the sky. "We should probably get back inside, Kitty's bound to be worried about ya'. She sent me out to see if Ah might be able to find ya' earlier, I guess Ah got lucky."

"Indeed, especially considering that I was down in that fucking creepy hospital wing you guys have here not too long ago," I made to stand, placing my lighter and cigarette pack in my back pocket. I still felt sort of out of it, but my clarity returned after a moment as we walked back indoors and headed upstairs.

On the way to our room we passed Piotr, who nodded in greeting, his gaze resting on me a moment as he strode by. I gave him a reassuring smile, though it was more half-hearted than I'd have liked it to be. I was worn out, my emotions, while currently subdued, still causing me some hardship. We continued down the hall in a comfortable silence until we reached the door, Rogue turning the handle in an elegantly gloved hand. A familiar bundle of shrieking yellow could barely wait for the passage to be completely cleared, though, as Jubilee nearly tackled me to the ground, her arms wrapped around my midsection.

"Oh my fucking god, Adrian, where the hell have you been! Are you all right? Did Summers' yell at you? I swear to god, if John did anything-"

I laughed. "Whoa, Jubes, slow down, it's all right. Summers' hasn't busted me yet, I can hold my liquor and I just came back from the spooky infirmary in the basement."

"Is it true? Did your powers really go crazy on you earlier?" Kitty asks, perched atop her bed in a neat, cross-legged position. Moving inside, I shut the door and nod, quiet with the cold, anxious fear that's coursing through my veins. Rogue said none of them thought of me any differently, but perhaps she'd spoken only for herself, projecting her thoughts upon her friends. I stood there wordlessly, waiting for her response.

"You didn't get hurt, did you?" It's immediate, concern apparent on my other roommate's features and it's all I can do not to keel over with relief.

"I'm fine I guess," I answer, Jubilee looking up at me with a frown. "I've just… there's a lot on my mind right now. Some really bad shit went down back at home and dealing with it is a lot harder than I'd expected it to be."

Kitty's nodded sympathetically, catching on. "Are things all right with your parents? Mine divorced last year while I was here, I was such a wreck I stayed phased for a day and a half before I was able to control myself again."

I was a bit taken aback at the forward nature they all seemed to reveal their short-comings with, their trials and errors. To do thus requires trust, to be so open as to share something so easily twisted against oneself. Rogue had been the first to tell me, and now Kitty had also brought me into the fold, I was touched. "No, it's not my parents. I haven't spoken to them in weeks."

"Glad Ah'm not the only runaway in this room anymore," Rogue grinned softly, the black humor earning a smirk from me as well. Jubilee kept her mouth shut and I knew better than to pry. If she wanted to say anything about her family she'd do it on her own terms, though her apparent silence spoke louder than any words she might have mustered, in English or the Cantonese she seemed to favor while doing her math homework or playing video games.

"Treacherous conversational paths aside," Kitty amended, "we're glad you're all right. You really gave us a scare, running off like that; we were really worried."

I shrugged awkwardly. "I really didn't mean to frighten anyone, I just needed some time alone. I'm glad I ran to the forest, I don't even want to think of what would have happened if I'd done that here… oh god." I shuddered, the thought too ghastly for me to consider for too long. As of now it was one of my greatest fears, accidentally losing control and draining everything until it was all arid and lifeless; this upgrade on my mutation came with some serious fucking issues.

"Hey, none of that," Jubilee swatted at my arm, grinning wide. "Shit happens, chica, but we don't have to spend forever thinking about it. There are far more pressing issues to be addressed tonight, like what you were _really_ doing up on the roof last night with St. John."

I shook my head, laughing. "We had a drink and a chat, nothing more, I assure you."

She gaped at me. "You… you didn't even make out! What the hell is wrong with you, Adrian, have you seen those lips of his?"

"Now, now Jubilee," Rogue tried to hide her grin. "Not everyone wanted to kiss John this summer."

The smaller girl put her hands on her hips. "Hrmph. 'Wanted to'? I did!"

Kitty groaned. "Yes, we've heard this story before, Jubes, and then Professor Munroe walks in and you both started fighting to cover it up and then you got detention for some stupidly long amount of time after John set a desk on fire-"

Jubilee smirked triumphantly. "It really was a great story, wasn't it?"

"Not after the forty-third tellin'," Rogue made a face, earning a chuckle from me. Insofar as I'm concerned, I have the best roommates ever. While I'm free to be as independent as I like, something personified by breaking curfew to stay out on the roof and drink with the school's resident badass, they're also an instant, grounding comfort should things take a turn for the worst. I wonder briefly if I should tell them about Maggie, but it's getting close to nine and after the stunts I've pulled today I'm actually fairly exhausted. Intuitive genius' that they are, of course, they take one look at my sallow features and give each other that knowing glance, steering me toward my bed.

"Oh well. No more booze for you tonight, chica, you need some 'Z's more than Professor Summers' needs to get laid. And that's badly, trust me," she rooted through my dresser, tossing an old tee shirt and a pair of sleeping shorts over her shoulder at me.

Kitty's eyes went wide. "Jubes! But I- aren't he and Dr. Grey-?"

"Just 'cause they're all wifey around each other doesn't mean she doesn't have man's tightest leash around his neck. You seriously wonder why he's so high-strung? He would not be like that if he was getting his just desserts every evening, let me tell you," she gave her friend a knowing look, which caused Rogue to promptly slap her forehead. "And really, despite being a total tightass, he's pretty hot, I don't see why she doesn't roll around in the hay with him more often."

"Oh mah gawd, Jubilation Lee, Ah don't even want t' know how in the hell ya' think ya' know that, but please, Ah'm beggin' ya', stop. Let the man suffer his supposed celibacy in silence, with his dignity still intact."

Kitty snorted. "Good luck with that one, he'll be lucky if the whole school doesn't know about it by noon tomorrow."

I grinned, yawning. "I'd expect no less from my darling Gossip Princess. Thank you Jubilee, for that glorious insight. I'll recall that forever now during his class while he spouts mouthfuls of literary pish-posh that even _I'm_ uninterested in."

"Ah swear, yer more like John than ya' give ya'self credit for. Ya'd better watch out or ya'll be best friends before ya' know it." Rogue cackled at the look I gave her, the deadpan eyebrow-raising far too much like Logan for me to even bother explaining myself.

"They'll be making adorable little friendship bracelets and everything, it'll be so cute!" Kitty squealed, only heightening my quasi-awkward discomfort. Grabbing the clothing Jubilee had thrown at me I headed into the bathroom.

"You guys have fun in that little fantasy world of yours, because seriously, that alternate reality shit is insane. And completely unlikely, mind you," I called out from behind the closed door while I changed. A chorus of laughter floated in under the cracks and I shook my head, smiling despite myself at their good-natured teasing.

The day had come to a far more sublime end than I'd ever thought possible, considering it's debasing beginning, and my three roommates definitely had a large stake in making that possible. Logan as well, for having brought me down from my hysteria and coaxing me back into reality. I briefly entertained the notion of buying him a "thank you" card of sorts, but all of that Hallmark bullshit was more likely to upset his stomach than actually do him any good, he'd probably just sharpen his claws on it. Giving myself a brief once-over in the mirror, I was pleased to note that the bruises on my neck had grown more faint, the purple having all but faded into a dull, lackluster gray.

Regardless of everything that had happened today, all the vast emotional blunders and the awe-inspiring uses of power, I felt somewhat at peace with myself. Tomorrow's evening lesson with Professor Munroe was sure to give me some answers if not aid me completely in focusing my newfound abilities and the notion was reassuring, to say the least. Logan was right, everyone at this school screwed up, some more devastatingly than others, but Charles Xavier made certain that his students learned to control and discipline themselves in the modern world, a thought I had vested a goodly amount of hope in after today's little stunt. These people had no doubt dealt with far worse than whatever I could dish out and, while some might have been insulted by such a blow to their ego, I was comforted by it, the knowledge that these good, tolerant people could keep me in line if necessary. I was surprised slightly when I realized that, if needed, I'd do the same for them without reservation.

I turned the faucet on, running the cool water over my hands and splashing it up onto my face. While the issues at home with Maggie were completely damning in their emotional and traumatic weight, I knew that there had to be a way to make it all right again. Perhaps I'd inherited some of Jubilee's interminable optimism via some strange dorm-mate osmosis, or perhaps I was merely trying my hardest to convince myself that the situation wasn't completely upon my own conscience, as the guilt was absolutely maddening, but I knew that something could be done to set the entire thing right again. I'd call her back tomorrow, after I'd slept, during lunch perhaps, and I'd tell her everything. After listening to me go off, there was no way she wouldn't want to open up a bit so that I could aid her in working through what had happened, though the vagueness she'd kept the issue shrouded in gnawed at me with worrying teeth more than I cared to admit. She was my best friend, there had to be something I was good for, even all the way out here. I knew her better than even she knew herself, and vice-versa, and that was heartening, considering what we'd both gone through in the last two weeks.

I dried my face and hands on a fluffy terry-cloth towel hanging from a rack on the wall, chuckling softly to myself. That was one thing they had wrong, the three girls chattering eagerly out in the room beyond; unique, close friendships weren't something easily forged, especially not between two completely unwilling parties. There was no way in hell St. John Allerdyce and I would ever be so close as Maggie and myself, and there was no real reason to be. Within out cloistered little circle we were all good friends, everyone supported one another, but for the moment I was hard-pressed to see any really true, burning friendships in that absolute, live-or-die "best friend" sense that so many people tried to tote about. The circumstances were different here, everything was separate yet equal, perhaps only until properly acquainted, yet it still failed to give off the same feel to me. I'd probably be eating my words in the morrow, but at the moment it was a rational thought that seemed to make perfect sense to my person. Stretching tiredly, I opened the door to the restroom and flicked off the light, saturating the area with darkness until morning came anew.  
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	12. I Disappear

Author's Notes: First allow me to apologize for the horrific delay that has prevented me from getting this chapter up as expediently as possible. Technical errors combined with hectic work schedules and the beginning of the Fall semester have not been kind, but onward we prevail with fifteen new pages! So much so that this story, this fanciful little work of mine, has reached well over it's hundredth page in total. Good lord, I don't know what to do with myself. A hundred pages, can you imagine it? I've never written so much on anything in my entire life, please pardon my incredulity and glee. As always, my deepest thanks goes out to the reviewers, who have been unspeakably kind, supportive and helpful to me in their words. To Grenade Jumper (a FOB fan, I see?) and Katy (and a Libs fan, fantastic!) I offer my most gracious appreciation, as I could not respond back to them directly. However, should any of you wish to obtain any of the songs I mention within this story, such as Katy did (please, I beg you, pardon the pun) feel free to contact me. At this point, I've gone on far enough with my babbling. Be consoled, John returns in this chapter and there is resolution. Well, sort of. Reviews, as always, are cherished. Thank you and enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own naught save my own lovely, deviant character. Marvel and FOX have this and I should hope they keep it in their own, capable hands a while longer yet.

"_Now I have managed to be the one  
To be the victim without the gun."_  
-Silverchair, 'Do You Feel The Same'

Chapter 12- "I Disappear"

It's close to noon when I awaken late the next morning, light filtering in through the open drapes to extend out across the expanse of the room. They let me sleep in, understanding my fatigue better than I myself did, perfect roommates that they are. I sit up gingerly, stretching while I listen to the pops of joints in my back and neck. It takes me a few moments to fully recollect the disastrous train wreck of events that was yesterday, but soon enough they return to ravage my mind in its sleep-numbed state. Much to my chagrin, of course. So long as I don't find any withered bodies still tucked in their beds I'm fine with it all, for the moment. Jesus Christ, I freeze-dried a forest. Well, I was half-way there anyway, I'm not Bobby.

Standing gingerly on the cool, hardwood floor I pad towards the bathroom and turn the water on in the shower. My stomach feels queer, hungry yet slightly off-set. I suppose I should come to expect it if the previous day ever repeats itself, though I'm quite close to declaring that I'd rather have my own arm torn out of its socket than ever having that fantastic little episode happen again. I ignore the faint ache of my ribs as I shrug my clothing off, stepping behind the curtain and into the spray. Twenty minutes of standing in there, staring off into space as the soothing water runs over my body and five minutes of actually cleaning myself and I'm out in the empty room, toweling dry. It's a level of privacy I haven't had since I arrived here and I rather missed it. This isn't to say that I'm a nudist in training or anything of that sort, but I'm a fairly private person and I enjoy my time to myself, when it can be attained. I pull on my undergarments, zipping up a pair of blue jeans and a shirt I got at the last Strokes show, ironically attended with Maggie less than a week before I nearly drowned the swim team. I can still see Julian Casablancas grinning like a cherubic madman at the front of the stage as I slip my feet into my shoes, lacing them and throwing my hair up into a precarious clip. I hesitate at the door, knowing what awaits me when I step outside the safe confines of my room, but it's time to face the music; I can't hide in here forever. With a sigh, I turn the handle and step out into the world.

Its lunch time right now, the halls deserted as people show their favoritism for food over loitering and I'm relieved at the lack of people, the people I can feel, like a soft tug pulling incessantly at the back of my mind. The hair on the nape of my neck bristles as I pick through all the scenarios of the strange looks, the whispers and sneers I'm likely to receive the moment I step into the cafeteria. Less than twenty feet away from the door, though, salvation comes in the form of something tall, gorgeous and Russian, complete with sandwiches, drinks and a bag of chips. If Kitty didn't swoon over Piotr so goddamn much, I'd have kissed him on the spot. Instead, though, I take the food he hands me and we make our way out into the garden, finding a shady bench to sit beneath, overlooking a basketball game between some of the younger students. All is quiet for the first few minutes as we sit, calmly enjoying our meals and the soft breeze toying with the hair on our heads. Piotr speaks first, wiping his mouth carefully with a napkin before his voice finds its way up and out of that little masterpiece of sculpture that they call "lips" on most of us dreary mortals.

"Are you feeling well?" It's a simple, almost obligatory question and I answer it in kind, though goodness knows I don't mind it.

"I'm all right, I guess. I've been better." A shrug, something else to illustrate the tranquil atmosphere surrounding us.

He nods, his gaze returning from the students to focus on me. "I heard about what happened yesterday, Adrian. I'm sorry."

I snort, taking a sip out of the bottle of water he procured for me. "You and everybody else. Fuck, Piotr, I don't know what I'm going to do; everyone must think I'm a complete psychopath."

"A little bit," he too shrugs, acknowledging what I already have in the bright, pre-summer sunshine. A chill of something nervous twists in my stomach and I put my sandwich down on its wrapper.

"Do you think I'm crazy? For losing control like that?"

He chuckles softly. "No, Adrian, I do not. Everyone does that from time to time, why should you be any different?"

"For a start, most people don't instantly dehydrate a fucking forest when they're really upset. It's not like I've even done anything like that before either, it just, well, it happened." Its fairly ineloquent, but concerning the subject matter and the fact that I woke up less than an hour ago, it's really the best I can do under the circumstances. I glance down to the blades of grass beneath us and he's silent for a moment before venturing forward.

"What caused you to become so anguished? Things like that aren't really an everyday occurrence from what I can grasp; it takes a lot to really get to someone like that." He knows he's treading onto the thin ice territory, but he's willing to take the plunge into the frigid waters regardless. His bravery is something to be commended, to hell with my reluctance, and I sigh. I haven't even told my roommates about the telephone conversation that occurred yesterday, but within seconds the words are bubbling over my lips and trickling down my chin like the juices of a ripe pear and he just sits there, holding my gaze in his own steely irises listening intently to every damning sentence. I tell him everything, about the phone call, about running like a madwoman into the woods, about falling into the stream, loosing my mind. I convey to him the horror of my deed, of blacking out and awaking to Logan and awakening again to the sterile silence of the sick bay. I conveniently leave out the bit about my newfound ability to be able to feel the water in people, though. I mean, seriously, Piotr grew up in Soviet Russia, he can deal with some pretty tough, weird shit, but I have to draw the line somewhere. For the time being, at least.

He hears it all, impassive, blank like the canvases he paints upon until I finish and the juices have dried on the corners of my mouth. I sit there, breathing heavily, trying to calm myself as I anticipate the judgment to be brought upon me by his person. I haven't even divulged this much to Logan, I gave him the Cliff Notes, annotated fucking guide to the "When Shit Went Down In The Forest" story of yesterday and I just prattled it all out to Piotr in a matter of five minutes. Jesus, if I had a dollar for every time I blabbed out all of my personal, walled up shit here at Mutant High I'd probably be pretty decently wealthy by the next month or so. It unnerves me a little to realize that I probably won't be stopping any time soon either, depending upon the reactions of the people I'm conversing with. It's all been good feedback, so I can't really stop myself from continuing on with my cathartic experiences, even though rational may advise me otherwise. Maggie was the only person I had ever trusted this much, but with her so far away and the harsh reality of the predicament I'd unwittingly thrust upon her, I don't have that luxury any longer. Christ, I'm selling out so fast I don't even know what to do with myself; here's for going to the big-time, mainstream act, kids. Hook me up with a bad, over-produced single to get played forty times every hour on the radio and we're set.

"You'll want to bring this up with the Professor today, or whoever is training you," he says after a moment. "It will be the best way for you to find out how to better control yourself. You're by no means a walking atom bomb, but any mutant above a level three without the knowledge as to how they might restrain themselves is a threat. I'm not saying this to frighten you or to make you upset but it is the truth, and as your friend I feel the responsibility to tell you, for yourself and the sake of those around you."

I nod in understanding. He's right; just as Logan was yesterday, and I give him credit for actually having the balls to deliver it in so frank a manner. I've an inkling that my roommates might have been more kind had I imparted this grave information upon them, but kindness is not what I need right now, I can't have people pussyfooting around me when I have something like this locked away within my veins. Storm will get an earful tonight when we meet for our training session, of this I am certain. One thought still clamors about in my mind, though, and knowing that Piotr's clued in about all of this, I see no harm in voicing it.

"So, what the hell do I say to Maggie? I was supposed to call her back yesterday but, well, you know the story, I really couldn't. I know my leaving probably brought up a whole shitload of abandonment issues with her, and I really couldn't bear dragging her down after everything that's happened, but how do I tell her all of this stuff? Not to be a total asshole, Piotr, but it was hard enough telling you."

He takes another bite of his sandwich, finishing it thoughtfully before swallowing. "You'll tell her just as you always have. You're best friends, _comrades. _This shouldn't change it any more than if one of you had told the other you were bisexual or considering converting to another religion; if you're truly as close as you claim to be, she'll accept you for who and what you are, without protest."

Again, I pity whoever sees my darling David at a glance and thinks that he's nothing more than a big, hulking chunk of muscle. Goddamn, he's good.

"Piotr," I smile, "I don't know what the hell I'd do without you. Thanks, I can't tell you how much you listening helped me out, it really means a lot."

He smiles, one of those rare, genuine things. "Don't thank me. It's what we do here for friends; I know you'd do the same."

And he's right; I'd do it in a heartbeat. Rogue could accidentally touch someone or Jubilee could inadvertently spark Professor Summers in the butt or Bobby could flash-freeze the room in a moment of embarrassment or Kitty could phase through the door while I'm taking a shower, Christ, St. John could light his notes on fire and ask me for help (an extremely unlikely scenario, I know) and I'd do it without question. Right now Piotr could sock me in the face and he'd have instantaneous forgiveness, assuming I woke up sometime this month in order to give it to him, of course. All I can do is just nod, grinning like an idiot and revel in my good fortune. This strange feeling has set in. It's almost as though, after seventeen years of searching, I may have finally come home. Piotr doesn't have sole custody over the generation of this sensation, but the overwhelming feeling of acceptance that Xavier's school exudes is truly a force to be reckoned with, and I'd be a fool to question it.

"I take it you'll be returning to classes tomorrow then?" he asks, balling up his trash and crushing it sublimely in his fist. It makes me positively giddy to know that my beloved, living Michelangelo statue could be his own recycling plant if he really wanted to be.

"I suppose so. Calling Mags is a bit of a priority now, even though shit like this always goes over better when said in person. Still, you do the best you can, right? Although, with this situation in particular, my best is fucking ridiculously deplorable."

He shakes his head. "You shoot yourself down too much, Adrian. You cannot always take full responsibility for the things you have no control over, even when they end up hurting the ones you love the most." Something haunted briefly crosses over that chiseled face of his and I nod in understanding. Even the Jolly Russian Giant has seen his fair share of turmoil, another innocent checked off the growing list at the mansion.

"Yeah, I know. It doesn't stop it from sucking, though. I just, I don't even know anymore. I'm so guilty for so many different offenses towards those I really cared for that I don't even know how to begin redeeming myself. My family, my best friend, I just worked off of assumptions and bailed. It didn't really help when they had the cops out hunting after me, either."

"And that is when Logan found you, yes?"

I incline my head, another acknowledgement. "Sort of. I was on the run and he pulled me out of a tough fix. And here I am, schooling myself in a mutant utopia I don't even know how to begin paying my penance for. It's really surreal, but I'm coming to terms with it."

"Aren't we all," he said softly, a sort of enigmatic admission I would have frowned at, had he not stood, excusing himself to return to classes. I bade him farewell and watched him leave, sipping on the water bottle he'd left me and pondering over my next order of business on this sunny, perfect day. The telephone in the lobby flashed through my mind, earning a barely suppressed shudder for all it was worth. Lifting myself off the wooden bench I made my way back inside and went to it, a beacon amongst the throng of students and teachers returning from lunch. The latter party gave me no queer looks or admonishing expressions as I sat purposefully in that stately, high-backed chair, lifting the receiver and dialing in that number I knew better than my own date of birth. They understood and allotted me my space, the chance to get my shit together so that I might be allowed to better devote time to my future here at the institute. The students, however, had glances that ranged from awkward confusion to full-on hostility. Biting the inside of my cheek, I willed composure upon myself as I tried with the utmost concentration to block out the swirling masses of water that remained in my minds' eye, even when I'd closed my gaze to their bodies. The last thing these kids needed was a repeat performance complete with human participants, and its right about now, nervous perspiration starting to bead at my hairline, that I curse myself for not owning a cell phone, something that might allow me to roam freely, conversing without the prying eyes of others.

It's Bobby, of all people, who comes to stand at my side while I hold the receiver to my ear. Bobby, the cheery, All-American Golden Boy, deflecting the attention away from me in ways I know with every fiber of my being that I don't merit. I barely give this kid the time of day; of all the students here at the mansion Bobby and I have powers that are the most similar, the most inherently useful to one another, and yet all I've ever done is judge him and snicker quietly to myself. And Bobby, well shit, all darling Robert Drake has ever done is try to be my friend.

I'm such an asshole.

The phone is ringing, trying desperately to connect to Maggie some three thousand miles away, and yet all I can think of at the moment is that I should be telling Bobby to go to class, that he doesn't deserve a tardy note on my account, that I don't fucking deserve his kindness. For god's sake, I blew him off yesterday morning to call Maggie the first time around. And yet, before I can get anything out he just smiles that glowing smile of his and resumes his honor guard like I'm the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. To have someone like Bobby reach out to me, well fuck, I feel blessed. Truly. This isn't to demean the other's attempts, because they all hold high places in my mind, but of all the people I'd managed to build up prejudices about within my first few days at Xavier's, it was the Dynamic Duo, roommate pair extraordinaire, Fire and Ice combo that Rogue seemed to have wrapped around her dainty, gloved finger. But we all know how those go, the initial misconceptions bashed upon the proverbial rocks of truth and good god, my tanker the H.M.S. Bullshit just collided with the great, rocky shores of Sincerity and leaked its Flushed Red Cheeks of Embarrassment all over the place. Classy.

"Don't worry, if you want me to leave when you get through I'll head off, I just wanted to be sure you were doing all right here, after yesterday," he says quietly while the line continues to ring. There's a note of guilt in his tone and I find myself frowning up at him.

"Bobby, you don't blame yourself for yesterday, do you?"

He manages to look supremely awkward for a moment, blushing slightly and rubbing the back of his neck in a way that is so firmly adorable I'd probably hug him under less tenuous circumstances. "A little. I mean, if I'd just checked up on you after breakfast or something, you did jet out of there pretty fast-"

I shake my head. "There's nothing you could have done. Regardless if you'd been there or not, her words, the events afterward would have come to pass. Please, don't blame yourself, I couldn't bear it. It was my fuck-up."

Bobby regards me for a moment and I hope he understand just how genuine I am with him. Bobby could have put on a cape and fucking tap-danced his way around the mansion and all of the nasty effects of yesterday still would have gone down according to schedule. After a moment he nods and I feel my unease lessen significantly. Without warning, the line on the other end picks up.

"Hello?"

The voice on the other end is hazy with sleep and, cursing I remember the time difference. "Mags, its' me."

The voice perks a bit, though just barely. "Oh, yeah, hey." This certainly isn't what I expected.

"Am I calling you at a bad time?" My voice is tentative, not wanting to cause any great upset to my friend, though when I hear her snort derisively on the other line, my mood begins to change.

"Not really, though it would have been pretty fucking cool if you'd actually stuck to your promise yesterday and called me back then." For fuck's sake of all the stupid, insignificant bullshit-

Bobby raises an eyebrow, silently asking both if I want him to scram and if everything is all right. I shake my head, another simultaneous answer, and grind my teeth. "Look, Maggie, the reason I didn't call you back wasn't to be a dick, it was because some really scary shit happened yesterday and for a good portion of it I was stuck unconscious inside an infirmary. If that's really a fucking huge deal to you then give me a head's up and I'll call back when you're in a better mood."

The other line grows quiet and immediately I can tell that I've caused a change. "I… I'm sorry, Adrian. Are you all right? What happened?"

I roll my eyes, exasperated. Best friend or not, Maggie can be obscenely dense sometimes when it comes to the opinions and feelings of others, she has a hard time empathizing. "It's nothing, don't worry about it. And before you start protesting-" I cut her off before she can do me the same courtesy- "I'll email it all to you later, all right? There are some things I just don't want said over the phone. Suffice to say that my genetics have upped the ante, yeah?"

I can picture her nodding in agreement on the other line as she voices the affirmative. "So, when are you coming home? I miss you."

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose at the tingles of an on-setting headache. "I miss you too, Mags. I don't know when I'll be back, I'm not really safe there right now, not until I can get this under control. Even then it'll be impossible to keep a low profile, everyone already knows who I am, what I can do, it's dangerous."

She sounds hurt, her voice growing so soft that I have to strain my ears to hear her properly. "You're just going to leave me here, all alone? Adrian, I thought we were-"

"Don't, Maggie, don't you fucking _dare."_ I can see Bobby jump in the corner of my eye, and I'm thankful the halls have long since cleared at this point, because I'm so angry right now I'm well on the verge of taking the nearest unfriendly face and pummeling it into the floor. "Don't you dare pull that shit with me, Maggie Moore! You know it isn't like that. Jesus, if I weren't some uncontrollable genetic freak none of this would be happening! And you have the gall, the unholy nerve to act like I don't know that? What the hell is wrong with you, Maggie? Where the fuck do you get off-"

"Fuck, Adrian, I'm sorry, all right? It was fucked up, I didn't think about what I was saying. I'm sorry." A quick defense, but I'm still seething. Breathing deep to calm myself, I accept the apology and try to right myself. Looking down at the ground, I see a small puddle of water at my feet and groan with irritation; I wish my mutation came with a built-in mop and bucket.

"Look, don't worry about it. We've both got a lot of shit we have to deal with, none of this is fair to anyone. But you're still my best friend, Mags, and I care about you. I need you to keep in touch with me, email me or something, anything so that I can talk to you and make sure you're all right. I can't deal with bad shit happening to you right now. It fucking kills me to know that, in some shape or form, it's my fault. And I can't do anything to stop it much less actually help you because my folks have the LAPD riding my ass whenever I'm in town. I was lucky I was able to get out of there without having been caught and shipped off to some awful laboratory."

She gasps. "They'd have done that to you! But you're their kid!"

"You know my father, Maggie, he almost passed out when the school called him. I couldn't stay there, I had to get out of town." I'm sure Bobby's pretty uncomfortable right now, this is an extremely personal conversation. I'd be more private about it, but I need a witness, someone to understand the situation a bit more from an observational standpoint. The silent, moral support is always welcome too.

"Oh my god, that's horrible."

"Noted. Hey, Maggie, I've got to run. I'll email you later, though, all right?"

We exchange goodbyes and I hang up the phone wearily, rubbing my eyes briefly before I stand. I look to Bobby after a moment, giving him a small, tired smile. "Thanks."

He gives me that glorious Angels-We-Have-Heard-On-High grin of his, though there's less wattage to it this time, the scant knowledge behind my arrival here proving perhaps to be too great a burden for him. I stop myself; the boy is best friends with St. John Allerdyce and he's dating Rogue, who am I kidding? I'm pleased when he doesn't attempt to console me, but merely allows me to accompany him on the way to his class, our class, the lesson Logan teaches, the one I've presumably been excused for in allowance of a brief recovery period. I too bid him a good afternoon when we reach the elevator and set off toward the Professor's office, hoping that perhaps he has some spare time between classes so that I might be able to explain myself and my actions yesterday. Of course, knowing his fantastic omnipotence, he probably already has a very keen idea. Then again, Helen Keller probably might have known at this rate, were she still living. I pause a moment, hesitant, before I gently rap my fingers upon the fine, polished wood of the door.

"Come in, Adrian." There is no hesitation as I open the door and enter quietly, taking that familiar, proper chair before the Professor's desk where he himself is seated, dignified as always.

"I came to see you about what happened yesterday," I begin simply, not really sure how to start. Going off with, "Sorry for totally killing your forest, I promise I'll pull a Johnny Appleseed and totally fix it" is a bit elementary for my liking. The Professor, true to his kind ways, smiles.

He studies me from across the desk. "Ah, yes. I'm glad to see you appear to have recovered well, though I must say, you did give us a bit of a scare. This second mutation of yours, previously latent, it's a bit more than you expected, yes?"

"Truth be told, sir, I hadn't expected anything. I was upset, hysterical even, but never in my life did I imagine I was capable of something so terrible. When I looked around I felt as though the end of the world had been heralded." I try to keep the shudder in its place at the base of my mind, the memory itself almost too great to bear.

Xavier watches me a moment longer before he leans back and closes his eyes. "Why don't you tell me what happened, Adrian? You needn't go into too great detail if it makes you uncomfortable, but hearing the story behind the surfacing of this more suppressed mutation might aid us in controlling it."

I want to tell him that it won't do any good regardless, that if I've barely got my more primary mutation under wraps, how the hell am I going to manage this one? But I bite my tongue, swallow my comments and pray not to choke. I tell him the story of yesterday. All the while he listens, clear, lucid eyes on me as I relate everything that had happened, leaving nothing unsaid up until the point where Logan had brought me to the medical bay and Dr. Grey had taken me under her wing. It is at my waking discovery that I falter, noticeably so, and I stop.

"Continue, if you'd please," the Professor beseeches quietly, and I sigh, ashamed of myself. I look down at my kneecaps.

"I can sense water, sir. I mean, well, you already knew that, it was one of the first inklings of my mutation. Every time someone flushed the toilet or got a glass of water from the tap I could feel it. But now it's, um, evolved." I say this for lack of a better word, feeling beyond awkward there in that grand office. The Professor doesn't miss a beat.

"Do you mean to say that you can sense it in living organisms now as well?"

"I- well, yes. I can feel it in you right now."

Xavier looks pleased. "Fascinating. Adrian, you really do have a remarkable gift. Like young Mister Drake, I'd imagine that with practice you'd be almost limitless."

"I don't want a 'gift' that can do _that,"_ I point out the window, toward the ruined patch of forest, forgetting my place momentarily in my anxiety. "If that's a gift then I want a goddamn gift receipt."

While I cover my mouth quickly in shock at my disrespect the Professor chuckles good-naturedly. "If only all things were so simple, Adrian. I know this isn't easy for you, and I certainly wouldn't expect it to be, but there are ways we can teach you to control this as well. These are not impossible tasks, merely challenges of which we must rise to the occasion. You have a strong will, and a loyal sense of being, I don't expect this shall hold you back."

I allow his words to sink in a moment, mulling them over in my mind. I've entrusted the man with my darkest secret to date and, unflinchingly, he offers me support, alternatives and avenues of progress. I recall again why it is I came here for the first time since my earlier telephone conversation with Maggie and am heartened. Quietly, my voice barely above a whisper, I ask, "You really think it won't be completely hopeless?"

He smiles again, that reassuring, fatherly gesture and I can't help but give him a bit of a sheepish one back. "Nothing, Adrian, is ever truly hopeless; you'd do well to remember that. You have your training session with Professor Munroe tonight, yes?" I nod and he goes on. "Good. I'll do my best to inform her, but do talk to her if she has any questions or bits of insight as they're bound to assist you most indelibly. I understand that these bits of your home life, Adrian, your life back west, are hard for you to cope with, but know that there is always someone here who is willing to listen and aid you through it. You're not alone here, and you never will be."

This man could rally legions of catatonic patients to dance a jig, pick up a musket and go charging up to the battle front if he so much as breathed, he really is the most motivating, encouraging individual I've ever met. Even without the telepathy. Feeling more at ease with myself and my predicament, I take my leave of his office and make my way back into the corridor, grinning despite myself from ear to ear. I manage a smirk at a group of passing students and they hurry by, twittering hastily to one another with wide eyes. Classes seem to have been let out, I hadn't even realized how long I was in Professor Xavier's office until someone almost shoulder-checked me into the massive grandfather clock in the foyer. I spin around, glaring at a younger, though significantly larger, boy named Freddy, who went by the apt pseudonym "Blob", and was about to let loose a startling volley of insults when I hear someone call out behind me.

"Hey, asshole, watch where you're walking! It may be a little early for a barbeque, but I can recommend the cook put roast pig on the menu if you keep pushing your luck."

I'd tell them off for fighting my battles for me, but the shock of having my body jostled about so abruptly has done nothing good for my ribs, which now ache in alternating dull and sharp bursts. Turning to address the individual I'm about to bite out a retort when I notice its-

"John?" In my mild disbelief, Blob retreats into the crowd of students, trying to put as much space between him and the pyromaniac as possible. And with good reason too, I might add; John had his lighter out, pilot lit. Glancing about quickly for teachers I speak in a quiet rush. "Put that thing out, will you? If one of the Professor's catches you you're going to be in deep shit and you know it. I wouldn't put it past that moronic tub of lard to have cried about you to someone."

John merely rolls his eyes, flicking the lid up with an audible click of metal against metal and pocketing it. I shake my head forcibly, raising my eyes to the far wall when I realize that I can see the outline of it through his jeans, a hint of something awkward-flavored dusting my cheeks and melting on my tongue. The small painting of historic, upstate New York over John's shoulder is of sudden and great interest to me. "Do you have class now?"

Most of the students have cleared out, going off to their assigned lessons at this point while I'm trying to make out the figure of a small, oil-painted pony against a barn. In response, John raised an eyebrow, a bored, sardonic expression etched onto the youthful face that framed those old, old eyes. I put a hand on my hip, giving him a look in return before walking out the front door. "C'mere."

I'd walked almost halfway across the lawn before I had any indication if he'd actually followed me or not. His presence, of course, was denoted by that incessant clicking of his Zippo and it was all I could do not to turn around and splash him. It was then, oddly enough, that I was taken aback by the realization that I could sense him as well. It really shouldn't have surprised me so, considering that even the Saints were human before their ascensions into heaven, but for someone so distinctly bonded with his mutation- no, his _element-_ it almost seemed strange. And yet there it was, water, life nestled within the towering pyre that was the essence of John. Consider me amazed, perhaps even baffled, but not nearly enough to mention it out loud. We press onward and into the forest in silence.

I'm taking John back to yesterday, our feet the time machine moving us forward, yet ultimately backward the closer we get. Depeche Mode's 'World In My Eyes' comes to mind, though without the perhaps intended innuendo. I'm still unsure as to whether there actually is one or not within that song, as granted, it's no 'Master and Servant', but we're talking Martin L. Gore here, and-

We've arrived.

Nothing, not even dignity, can stop the sharp intake of breath I hear and I want to die when I realize it was me. I can't hear John behind me, he's stopped fidgeting with his lighter and immediately I wonder why I've brought him here. Why John- Prometheus- of all people? What significance did I think this place would have to him that made him so goddamned privileged as to see what was, in symbolic form, my current darkest hour to date? I take a slow, steady deep breath and turn to look over my shoulder, to gaze back at his expression, and I have to stop myself from grinning when I see that even he is aghast. "Kindling." I say softly, for lack of anything else to break the silence.

"You did this?" he asks after a moment, stepping up to stand to my right. I nod.

"Yesterday."

"I thought your power was just limited to over-flowing toilets and causing water glasses to fall on people's pants," he says, surveying the area. It's still completely dry here, save whatever the slight damp of this mornings' fog might have done.

"Apparently you, and myself. Kind of disturbing, isn't it?" I grimace when I see my footprints in the riverbed.

John surveys everything with what he imagines, or hopes I suppose, is an impassive look, though you can read the awe off of him pretty well. Score one for the home team, I may have just gotten old Johnny Boy to take me seriously. He takes a few steps forward, past me, and kneels beside a dry, dead tuft of undergrowth, the thistles, I realize. When he looks back up at me, with that damnable smirk stuck on his face, I almost want to smack him. "You should do this more often. Fuck that kindling bullshit, this is fuel."

I'm too slow to hit the lighter out of his hand before I see the thorny weed go up in smoke.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, put that out Allerdyce, now!" Fucking Christ, one of the professors is going to look out the window, or worse, Logan will smell it, and come running out, detentions in hand. I haven't even been here a week yet, goddamnit, I don't want another evening spent in Summers' ridiculous room for a long while yet. But John, bastard that he is, just looks over at me with a snide grin.

"Please, Mills, don't play stupid with me. It doesn't suit you." The fire has reduced the plant to ash in seconds and he moves it on to another small bush, setting it alight with his will. Fascinated, horrified, I watch helplessly as he continues. "You brought me out here for a reason, and it's pretty simple to figure out; I burn shit. Fire is my deal, sweetheart, and you want this place gone." He looks back at the flames, presently controlled, moving from dead plant to dead plant, leaving soot and ash in his wake. "I'm the man for the job."

Fighting back the stupid bit of fear that creeps up into me, I narrow my eyes at him. "I thought we already discussed this manly business; you didn't make the cut. Now stop fucking around and put that out before I do it for you." I don't have to look down to know my fists are clenched, trying desperately to channel my tension, my apprehension of being reprimanded again by those so generous as to take me in and treat me as one of their own. All the more harrowing, though, is the faint suspicion- no, the acknowledgment- that he's right. Subconsciously or otherwise, there were reasons I brought St. John Allerdyce to this place, and it takes the very heart of me. I have to fight this. "John, please stop."

He takes no heed to the slight pleading tone my voice has taken on without my behest, the blatant usage of his first name, as he shakes his head, a determined note in his response. "Sorry, Mills, no dice."

"I'm not asking," I glower at his back, the shoulders, lean bordering on broad, squared insolently at me. My mind is already gathering up its reserves when I hear him laugh.

"Don't try to be tough with me, Mills. You couldn't stop me if you tried."

I pause. "I don't want to hurt you, even if you are a complete dick."

Another laugh, another dead thing goes up in flames. "Ooo, harsh words, dollface."

Something inside me snaps.

Dollface. The alley. John Doe Psycho Rapist.

Oh _god._

"Get the fuck away from me you sick, horrible bastard!" I yell, a blast of water appearing at my beck and call, throwing him forward and extinguishing the flame. Sopping wet, John rises to stand ten feet away, lighter out, eyes narrowed dangerously. I can't stop myself as I back away, a queasy terror stealing over me. My breathing comes in short, uneven spurts and its enough for John to realize that I'm not entirely well.

"Explain yourself." He says shortly, and even in my panic-induced haze I know that this is a chance I'm not likely to get again before he pulls and Emeril and BAM, I'm cooked.

"He called me dollface, in the alley, near the pub, away from the cops, before he tried to-" I'm babbling on the verge of hysteria because somehow, in some irrational, awful way, I'm back in that alleyway in Los Angeles and my hands are clawing at my neck, trying to pry those wretched paws from me so that I might just free myself before he hits me. John gives me my space, lets me fumble backward until my feet get tangled in all of that clumsy underbrush and I fall flat on my back, the wind leaving my lungs in a rush.

When I finally manage to get some control over myself a little while later, John is standing over me, eyeing me carefully, waiting to see if I'll pull anymore unexpected punches. I don't. Instead, I sit there, trying to rein my sanity in, to remind myself of my present reality. The one where John is burning everything, where the world is on fire and I might just survive it if I'm lucky and he remembers me for who I am. A voice of reason? That necessary antithesis? The yin and yang opposite Bobby doesn't fill the role of nearly as much as he used to now that he and Rogue are going steady? I hold my head.

"I'm so sorry, John." It's barely above a whisper, but he seems to hear me well enough because suddenly he's helping me up and it's comforting, for just a moment, to be reminded that it's not going to shit all over again and, despite my current companion's penchant for wanting to burn everything in sight, I'm safe here. The awareness of this only increases my shame, though, and I look to the blackened ground to hide my face, guilt surging upward.

"You're still really screwed up over that, aren't you?" He says after a moment, studying me in my turmoil.

"It isn't obvious?" I mutter, silently damning myself a hundred times over for being so weak, so hopelessly repressed. At this rate I was giving Catholicism a run for its money. "Look, I'm really sorry, all right? I just, you really set me off, and I'm sorry for doing that. It was inexcusable and wrong and just-"

He shrugs. "I don't know, I can't say I wouldn't have done the same in your position."

I tear my eyes off the ground and peer up at him like he's grown a few extra heads. "Are you insane? John, I attacked you."

"No shit, Mills. I'm not excusing it, but I can understand it. I didn't exactly have the easiest time before I got here either," he looks at me evenly, and it's then that I realize that his eyes aren't brown. They're blue.

We're more alike than either of us are willing to admit.

"I know. I'm sorry for having taken it so badly." I want to slap myself for being so naïve about it all, for the notion that I'm almost on the verge of tears, but I manage to press my self-loathing into the back of my mind for a bit in order to grasp hold of an idea. "I could dry you, if you liked."

John's eyebrows arch heaven-ward in silent question, that practiced smirk of his, tried and true, coming to rest on the curve of his lips. "You up for all that with your ribs, sweetheart?"

We're back to square one, the secure social statures. We slide comfortably into our well-rehearsed roles, though I'm a bit irritated at the reminder of the pain in my chest. "Fuck off, asshole. I can drain the water off you, sort of like what I did here but without the whole post-apocalyptic scene. You up for it?" There's a challenge in that last bit and he takes the bait without fail.

"Hurry it up, Mills, I don't have eternity for you to figure out which new household appliance you are today."

"Call me Maytag and you'll be begging Bobby for his mom to send you some of his Oil of Olay, Prometheus. And shut up for a second, I don't want to kill you." If only I were joking about that last part. Concentrating, I feel about in the dark of my mind, looking for that switch so that I might cast it upward and shed a little light on everything. Finding it within myself, I flick it tentatively and open my eyes.

John stands before me still, unblemished. I raise an eyebrow in question and he shrugs. "Still sort of damp, but whatever."

"I didn't really want you to become a mummy, jackass," I grumble, though the period of tension between the two of us seems to have passed for the moment. "You wouldn't happen to have a cigarette, would you?"

Wordlessly he reaches into his jacket pocket and takes out a pack of reds, putting two in his mouth and lighting them. Removing one, he hands it to me and I take an eager pull off it, inhaling the calm and exhaling the vestiges of what had previously gripped me. The feeling of tiny fiberglass shards piercing my lungs never felt sweeter. "Thanks."

John blows out a long stream of smoke in acknowledgment and we stand in silence for a while before making our way back toward the mansion. It's nearing five o'clock now and dinner preparations will begin soon enough. I'm surprised to find that I'm absolutely ravenous after having had such a late meal, though sheer, blind terror has been known to bring the munchies before. Crushing our butts out on the gravel walkway near the kitchen, we chuck them into the trash and make our way inside. Part of me almost wished he'd taken my hand, as he had the other evening after our alcohol binge, for the comfort of it, but I was glad he hadn't as I couldn't imagine how I'd explain myself without causing a scandal. Goodness, what a gossipy mess this place was. Then again, I did have the school's very own wireless internet hub of half-truths and hearsay sleeping a few beds down every night, so I couldn't claim to be out of the loop, at least.

We queued up with a few other students outside the door to the dining hall when we got inside, standing a few feet away as was warranted by the looks they gave us. I knew a bit of John's reputation within the school as a hardcore badass, but my own outburst yesterday must have sealed the deal of making me the school's officially least popular student of the week, noting the glances I got. Whatever, I'm not losing any sleep over it.

The doors opens a bit later and we walk in silent, each of us taking what we want to eat and convening at our usual tables, waiting for the others to arrive as we sit in silence. I pick at a piece of bread, trying to ignore the impatient rumbling of my stomach, before I finally see Bobby and Rogue make their way in, followed soon by Jubilee, Piotr and Kitty. With a small smile and a wave I welcome them to the table. John, of course, barely acknowledges them, save to finally dig into his food. I manage not to roll my eyes, saying a quick hello to Rogue, who sits at my other side. "Classes go well today?"

She shrugs, picking up her fork. "Ya know the drill, same ol', same ol'. Professor Summers gave us the date of the final test fer _Beowulf_ next week and he expects us t' study fer it 'til our eyes fall out. Gawd, sometimes Ah wonder if he realizes that we have other classes here too."

"Dr. Grey wanted me to give you your assignments for tomorrow, though it's just a bit of review on chapter twenty-four," Piotr informed me between a bite of chicken. "You can look over my notes later, if you wish. You have all weekend."

I looked up from my food, confused. "It's Friday already?"

"Duh chica! You wonder why we're all so relaxed," Jubilee laughed. "Only a few weeks left too and then the year will be over. I can't wait for summer, even if most of us will be here taking summer classes. And by 'most of us', I mean everyone but Bobby and Kitty."

Bobby appeared to be somewhat sheepish at this. "I can't help it that I'm still on good terms with my folks."

"They accepted you for being a mutant? There's no shame in that, that's fucking fantastic," I took a bite of pasta and his face colored a bit.

"Actually-"

"They don't know," John said, smirking triumphantly.

"They think I'm at a prep school," Bobby looked embarrassed, poking unsuccessfully at an olive. I felt badly for him. At least most of us knew where we stood with our families, even if they'd renounced us or, like Kitty, embraced us for who we were. Granted, she was as rare a case as ever they came, but it was heartening to think that perhaps someday, after humanity became a bit more tolerant, that there would be more like them. I took a sip of water.

"There's no harm in that. You do what you have to, you know? If they're better off believing that you're in boarding school then keep it that way until the time is right to tell them otherwise."

"People've had easier times coming out o' the closet to their bible-beatin' parents back in Mississippi," Rogue shook her head.

"Word, seriously. Even in L.A. people are total dicks about it. You think they'd be more accepting of it, considering that they put up with people like Tom Cruise all the time," Jubilee scoffed.

Piotr chuckled. "That's what you get for having the Terminator as your governor, yes?" Everyone seemed highly amused by this and had a good laugh over it, save Jubilee and I, who were a little over the hilarity of it all. Kitty saved the conversation, though, changing it to what plans everyone had for tomorrow and trying to work out a trip into town, which was always favorable, as we all spent so much time at the school. I was dying to get out, even just for a couple of hours at that stupid mall they had here. I'm used to going into town a lot, seeing shows every other week or so with Maggie, so this is far more domestic than my normal routine and I'm starting to get a bit antsy from it all. I'm hoping that someday they'll actually take us into New York City, though fuck knows if we'll ever be allowed that chance; biospheres don't really travel well, and utopias even less so.

"There should be a summer sale at the Gap soon, we should totally check it out," Kitty grinned at Jubilee, who of course thought the idea was golden. I looked up at Piotr, trying to contain my almost obvious distaste at the idea of spending another hellish few hours shopping with the more giddy half of my room when I saw Logan enter the hall, looking as surly as ever. Rogue, following my gaze, offered an explanation.

"He's been in one of his moods again, bein' all ornery and cranky. He'll snap out of it soon enough, Ah hope. Ah hate it when he gets like that, he scares th' younger students as is."

Bobby frowned. "I thought you liked that about him. You're always going on about what a badass he is."

His girlfriend had the decency the blush slightly. "Considering what Ah've gone through with him, Ah think Ah'm inclined."

John snorted disdainfully. "You make it sound like you've had kids with him."

"Shut up, John, ya already know th' story so quit whinin' on 'bout it." Her accent flared up to twice its normal intensity and I couldn't help but smile at it. Kitty caught it and winked.

"If you think this is bad, wait until she really gets pissed with him, it's awesome."

Jubilee perked up. "We may yet get some action tonight, chicas, lets keep our eyes peeled."

"Like you'll ever get any of that. Please, don't kid yourself." As per usual, John's scathing wit keeps us all on the edge of our seats.

"What, like you will? Just because you're a manwhore doesn't mean you're constantly locked in a closet playing seven- oh, wait, maybe for you it's eight- minutes in heaven, kay?"

Another scoff. "Eight? Jesus Jubilee, I don't even look like Bobby. I know we're roommates, but try not to confuse us, it's a discredit to your self-imposed title of resident Gossip Queen."

"Guys, can we keep it 'claws in' for like, five minutes? If we're going to be asking the teacher's permission to go out tomorrow, we might want to appear at least somewhat civil for a little while," Kitty chastised, ever the planning wizard. I looked up, trying to find Logan again above all of the heads at dinner without avail. I wanted to find him tonight, before I went into my lesson with Professor Munroe, to tell him what I'd told the Professor and apologize for not having done so earlier. I probably owed Dr. Grey the same courtesy, but in my mind, Logan always came first, he'd earned the right. Then again, considering his mood, perhaps he'd already found out and had gotten upset with me for not having been more forthright. Shit. Here at Mutant High, there is no safe middle ground.

Dinner ended without much flare and I went in search of the library again, eager to use the computers in order to reach Maggie via email before my training session in a few hours. I didn't know how long it would take to get this email out, but I had the feeling that I'd be lucky if I made it on time to meet Storm at the pool. God, those X-names really were ridiculous. The day I give myself one will be the day I kick Logan's ass in the boxing ring. This will, obviously, never happen. Ever. Oh god, I'd be pummeled to shit, even imagining the injuries one would sustain from that is painful. I remember him mentioning something about cage fighting while he was up in Canada for a while and I pity all the poor bastards that took up arms against him, thinking they could beat him. He may not be the tallest guy around, but you can see the muscle on him, the feral look about him, and in all honesty, anyone in their right mind might be able to discern the whole attempt as something like suicide. There isn't enough that you could pay me to do that. That and, well, seriously, who the hell tries to smack around the current object of their hero-worship?

Finding a free computer I sit at the chair and open up my email account, pausing a few moments to consider a greeting. "Hello, it's your mutie best friend here, just dropping by to say 'hi'!" sounds a little beyond stupid, so I settle for the bland "Hello Mags" and begin to write it all out for her. Everything pours out, the week spent in L.A. before I'd hitched my ride east, meeting Logan, the stuff on the drive over, Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, the people I'd met and befriended, the teachers, my powers, all of it comes out with a faint clickity-clack noise of computer keys and for well over two hours, I'm lost in my recollection. I hit the send button a little before eight, the weight upon my shoulders having lessened significantly in my electronic confession to my friend. I hoped that this would help her understand, that she might be able to grasp my situation a bit more easily now with all of my memories and experiences before her, at her finger tips.

I log out and stand, feeling rejuvenated. Seeing the time I curse, dashing out of the library and racing down the hall towards the large pool room, a scant handful of minutes separating me from a tardy to a lesson I should never, ever be late for. Almost leaping over the head of one of the younger students- it was either that or actually stepping on him, he was so goddamn small- and skirting around the group of kids pouring out of the entrance of the rec. room I made my way down the halls, my blood singing the seconds as I felt their water all coursing through my mind, amassed to one great, swirling river, a truly glorious thing to behold. Perhaps this new power wasn't such a terrible thing after all, I mussed, as I picked my way out around corners, sensing where to run, where to dodge in my way towards my lesson. _"With great power comes great responsibility",_ but by Christ, this was awesome.

I made it into the large, open room with half a minute to spare, skidding to a halt at the doorway and giving Professor Munroe a smile before removing my shoes and socks, setting them beside the steps and coming to stand beside her at the edge of the water. Boy, was she in for a treat. I blinked my eyes and less than an instant later, the water within the pool had vanished. I looked over and had only to see the pride within my mentor's smile to feel the satisfaction sweep over me.

"Well done, Adrian. It appears as though you've finally come to accept your gift. I am pleased for you." It was with those words that she began my tutelage anew and we worked on into the night. I felt the seconds, liquid and malleable, singing through my veins.

-----

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	13. It Dawned On Me

Author's Notes: I have come back, as it was said by far wiser (fictional) men, at the turn of the tide. After much debate and research I finally found what I was searching for in the massive struggle to be faced by our beloved students. Hopefully you'll all approve to some extent, and I'll do my best to do it justice. This chapter hasn't taken nearly as long as the last, thank god, so I hope it'll come as a good thing amidst the chaos of the new school year and the calm tranquility of the Labor Day Weekend (for any of you American readers). Thanks again to all the fantabulous reviewers for all of their collective support, as I'd be fuck-all without it, and I hope you enjoy this thirteenth chapter of 'Some Weird Sin'.

Disclaimer: I still own jack. Go team Marvel/FOX!

"_Is there something you need from me?  
Are you having your fun?  
I never agreed to be  
Your Holy One._

_Whatever I've done  
I've been staring down the barrel of a gun."_  
-Depeche Mode, 'Barrel of a Gun'

Chapter 13- "It Dawned On Me"

Saturday morning I awaken promptly at seven o'clock in the morning as something small, screaming and Asian leaps onto my bed. Less than a second later, the aforementioned jumping out of the way, I'm hit in the face with a pillow.

"Mother fucking- what in the seven hells is going on here!" I shriek, prying the down-filled sack off my face and throwing it back in the vague direction it assailed me from.

"Snooze you lose, sucker! It's cartoons time and if we don't claim the couch before John, Bobby and Piotr get it, we're stuck watching _Power Rangers."_ Jubilee quipped, standing over me grinning in a pair of bright, yellow pajama shorts with a matching top.

"The fucking- Piotr actually watches that shit?" I rubbed at my eyes, trying to scrub the bleariness out of them so that I might see and comprehend the situation better. My god, was everyone around here mad?

"God no, but he humors the Dynamic Duo," Kitty rolls her eyes, putting her hair up into a ponytail.

I rub the bridge of my nose, wondering what the hell I'm doing listening to this when I could be attempting to get a few more precious hours of sleep. "And if we win?"

_"Batman, the Animated Adventures,"_ Rogue supplied, a smirk on her face. She'd found my trump card. It's a little known fact that I've wanted to marry Batman since I was six, becoming his love-slave/side-kick fantastic. How else could I be expected to respond?

"All right, all right, I'm up, let's go," I stood, shucking off my bed sheets and, noting what I was- or rather, wasn't- wearing, reconsidered.

"Oh, I'm sure they'd love to catch you in nothing but your panties, Adrian, but we don't want to kill them here, just race them to the couch," Jubilee cackled, sparks crackling at her fingertips.

I had the decency too look sheepish as I scrambled over to my dresser, grabbing a pair of pajama pants and practically jumping into them as a stray jolt was sent my way. "Hey, watch it, Sparky! I'm moving!"

Rogue laughed heartily, though still somewhat sleepy, as she opened the door, and I was under the impression that she had been overtaken in a similar manner just before they'd attended to me, the wily little minxes. Her gasp from the doorway, though, caught our collective attention as we spun about, looking scandalized to find Piotr, Bobby and an ornery yet confident John standing in the there.

"Ya filthy perverts! Just what in th' hell do y'all think yer doin' here at seven o'clock in the mornin'! We coulda been sleepin'! We could've been naked!" Covered nearly from head to toe, as her mutation was wont, Rogue put her hands on her hips indignantly.

"Christ, if only. It might've made this bullshit worthwhile," I heard John grumble. Piotr elbowed him gently in the side, almost toppling him in the process.

"We just stopped by to tell you that we hope you guys really enjoy the Green Ranger Saga," Bobby smirked. "Because that's what's going to be on downstairs by the time you losers get there."

"The hell it will!" Jubilee shrieked, a battle cry if ever there was one. "First one on the couch claims it for their team! Suck on that, bitches!"

And we were off.

I still had no idea what the fuck was going on, but everyone was running and when John gave me that cocky look of his, it was all I could do to keep myself from nearly tackling him to get there first, the bastard. Kitty phased through the others and raced ahead, though Bobby tripped her up pretty nicely freezing her feet to the floor. It took her a bit to get through it and by that time he'd raced on by, around the corner.

"Oh, two can so play that game!" Jubilee fumed, sending a few sparks this way. When we heard a yelp we sped up and passed him, Rogue and Kitty doing Logan's training well as they ran long and steady down the hallway. Until Piotr cut in front of them and used himself as a human wall, of course. Even without the organic steel to aid him, well over two hundred pounds of solid, well-muscled Russian are enough to slow anyone down. Especially with the view implied. Still though, the prospect of Mark Hamill's voice-over of the Joker was enough to speed me by along the wall and I was neck in neck with John as we raced down the stairs, taking them two and three at a time.

When we reached the bottom, landing and racing onwards, I spared a glance out of the corner of my eye at my opponent, who kept his eye determinedly ahead without much notice to me. Sleepy-eyed tool, he was in for it. Without warning a faucet from within a room we ran by spouted water out at him and he let out an ungainly yelp as it soaked through his tee-shirt and pants, chilling him. With a laugh I dashed onward, toward the open double-doors of the recreation room only to find-

"What in the sweet, suffering fuck is this shit!"

By the time I let the words fly out of my mouth the rest of them had gotten there and I was shoved into the room as they stood in the doorway aghast and open-mouthed, staring down at the group of younger students who had gotten there first. _Yu-Gi-O_ blared forth from the television in all of its gargantuan lameness and we were stunned by it to the point of silence. That is, of course, until John, still sodden, grabbed our attention.

"Fuck this, I'm getting something to eat." Seeing nothing better to do, as none of us really had the right to tell the younger students off, we followed him into the dining hall and set about getting breakfast, sitting down at our usual tables.

"Getting whooped by the youngin's, man, that's just sad," Jubilee plopped her stuff down, shaking her head. Bobby nodded in agreement, rubbing at a hole on the leg of his flannel pants, proof of Jubilee's previous hit.

"Next time," Piotr told them sagely, digging into an omelet as Kitty sat beside him, shaking her head.

"Really, kids these days have no class when it comes to Saturday morning cartoons. Crap like that show wouldn't have gone anywhere when we were kids."

John let out a snort. "Are you kidding? You geeks would have been sitting there with your eyes glued to the tube watching it. Same shit, different era; we're just nostalgic."

As much as I was loathe to give him the credit, he was dead-on with his explanation, and I found myself nodding slightly in agreement. Kitty caught my eye, her brows raised in an unspoken level of astonishment and I found myself blushing down at my apple sauce, wondering just how silly I'd worked myself yesterday at my training session to be this out of it. Sure, refilling the pool again after my fantastic disappearing act had been a bit arduous, but once I had found a source it was beyond easy, and the lesson had gone on from there. To be publicly agreeing with St. John, though? That meant that I was either coming to learn a whole different level of exhaustion or that I had to find something else to explain my lapse of judgment when I got cornered later on during the day by the gossip hounds. I'll never get a break.

"Perhaps ya'll can spare us the rant 'bout how Nickelodeon was better when we were younger 'til whenever Ah'm gone, 'cause Lord knows if Ah have to hear it one more time Ah'll scream," Rogue muttered over her toast, as if trying to invoke whatever powers her grape jelly might have to stop it.

"But Rouge, everyone knows that shows like _Clarissa Explains It All_ and _Ren and__Stimpy_ were beyond awesome," Jubilee grinned. Piotr looked bored.

"This is another one of Pete's 'In Soviet Russia you do not drive car, car drives you' moments, it's sort of hard for him to relate," Bobby explained.

"Let's see you have a television broadcasting American stations all the way out in Siberia, dork," Kitty made a face at him, and Piotr nodded.

"My family didn't have a television set, but there was a cinema in one of the villages a few miles away. They showed old Rambo films."

"Talk about a buzz kill, the only people those movies usually appeal to are people like Professor Logan," Jubilee rolled her eyes. "I'm glad you have a wider variety to choose from now, Piotr. Seriously, if all I had to watch all day was Sylvester Stallone I think I'd barf."

"Thank you, Jubilee, for that truly stunning bit of introspection. But come on, how do you really feel?" John deadpanned, getting a piece of nectarine on his fork from his fruit salad and eating it.

"Whatever, John. I don't even know how you're functioning here. I mean, geez, even Adrian is stumbling about looking for her wit. Did you drink Gatorade when you woke up or something?"

"Gatorade can replenish ya' wit?" Rogue looked beyond confused. "Y'all 'r givin' me a headache. Chill out." Jubilee stuck her tongue out at John who, having no shame, mimicked her. Less than a minute later, and three different types of "see food", Kitty stood, slamming her palms down on the table. The effect it generated worked and most of us jumped, save Piotr, and turned to look at her.

"Oh my god, you two are seriously more retarded then the kids in there watching that stupid Japanese cartoon show. Stop-"

It was at this point that I actually fell asleep at the table. In all seriousness, I dozed off, my chin in my palm, elbow on the table as I pretended to listen with great interest to the chaos slowly beginning to erupt around me as more and more students came in. I liked Kitty quite a bit, and I loved seeing John get squawked at, but after my training session with Professor Munroe last night, and the inadequate amount of sleep I'd gotten, I was still beat. I guess they began to notice because someone shook me awake seconds before I would have slid face-first into my apple sauce and I sat up with a jolt.

"Oh mah gawd, Adrian, go back to sleep. Yer practically dyin' down here, I don't even know how ya made it down th' stairs. We'll come get ya later, all right?" Rogue smiled kindly at me and I nodded, trying my best not to yawn at the table as I stood, gathering my tray. I waved to everyone and turned to leave, hearing John's outraged protests coming out rapid-fire as I walked out of the room. It wasn't my fault that his roommate had dead-on aim with his ice-blasts at a quarter to seven in the morning. Making my way upstairs, I collapsed into bed for another blissful three hours before I awoke by my own will, only too look out side and find that there was a veritable monsoon happening outside. I was suddenly very thankful I'd had my lesson with Professor Munroe last night; if it hailed when she was pissed, I didn't even want to know what had infuriated her enough to create this.

After I'd showered and dressed, I walked warily downstairs, something nagging in the back of my mind. Letting my senses spread out, I felt a large mass of water stationed within the rec. room, more so than anywhere in the mansion, in fact, and I made my way forward to see what all the commotion was. Padding quietly down the hall, I stopped for a moment, the hair prickling on the back of my neck. Someone was following me. The corridor almost seemed to lengthen, the shadows drawing everything in long, dark and narrow and I had to suppress the shiver that ran up my spine as I tried to reassure myself. I was safe here, this was Charles Xavier's school, no great wrongs could be done to me within these walls.

Suddenly a hand clamped down upon my shoulder and I spun about, ready to knock whoever it was off balance and warn them against their actions for future reference, probably Piotr wanting to pass me his notes or Bobby asking me where to find his girlfriend. But my breath froze in my lungs and the words died, stillborn on my lips as I stared, horrified, into those crazed eyes, and I saw with my own that sickeningly familiar glint of steel.

"Hello Dollface."

I screamed.

I woke up for real this time, flailing out of my blankets, the terrors of the dream still clinging to my consciousness as I sought to free a leg from the confines of a sheet that had wrapped itself around it while I'd thrashed about. There was a knock at my door and, I swear to god, my heart almost leapt out of my chest. "H- hello?"

"Kid, are you all right?" Oh sweet mother of all things holy, it was Logan.

"Yeah, I just- you can come in if you want," I shook the blankets off and stood, still clad in the pajamas I'd worn down to breakfast earlier that morning. My hair was a right mess but honestly, this was Logan, it wasn't as though he hadn't seen me like this before.

The door opened and in stepped my Knight, complete with his usual assortment of shirts and a pair of blue jeans that clung like a second skin. My goodness, I'd missed him. I barely realized I had embraced him until suddenly I found myself halfway across the room with my arms wrapped around his midsection, clinging on for dear life. There was a surprised intake of breath for a moment before he placed a comforting hand on my shoulder, the other going to rub the small of my back in small, soothing circles. He could probably smell the fear on me and part of me felt guilty, weak, pathetic for being seeming so dependent, but god help me, I needed this.

"It's okay, kid, yer fine. It was just a dream." I don't know how long he held me for, but it felt like ages until my heartbeat finally slowed down, my breathing becoming less rapid and labored. It hurt my head to imagine how I was going to explain this wonderful little scenario to my roommates, should any of them have chosen to walk in during that point in time. Thankfully, fate was kind and I was allowed my dignity while he repeated those calming words to me, their reiteration increasing my reassurance within the situation until finally, I sighed, coming back into myself.

"Thank you," I whispered, my head buried in his chest, the words muffling even as I spoke them. But he heard them and understood them for what they were. He always did.

"Yer welcome, kid. It's all right, I know how bad nightmares can get." I felt him tense slightly at his admission and I almost wanted to cry right then and there as it clicked in my head; the maniacs at Weapon X that had given him his adamantium claws, with what cruel barbarity had they treated him? Right now, I wasn't sure if I wanted to know. For the most dangerous person I'd ever met to be afraid of anything was a completely horrifying concept, and I let off thinking about it as best as I could.

I pulled back a bit, looking up at him. "What did you stop by for?"

"To check up on you after the other day," he pulled back until I was at an arm's length and regarded me. "I wanted to be sure you were handling yourself all right."

I smiled up at him. "I'm not doing too badly, my friends here have been keeping me up to speed pretty decently. I-" I paused, noting the somewhat distant look in his eyes after my words. "I miss not being around you so much, Logan. I mean, shit, you were trapped in a truck with me for four days, so perhaps this is all right for you, but you really made an impression upon me. If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be here; none of the other Professors could have told me about this place and have gotten me to believe in it like you did." God I must sound like the most obnoxious, clingy, stupid child he's ever encountered. But there's a sudden warmth about him and I realize then that perhaps the feeling is mutual, that I might just have grown on him.

"You wanna make me a friendship bracelet, kid?"

I roll my eyes, playfully smacking him on the arm. "Damnit, Logan! You could at least offer a hike sometime, I'm not asking for a trip to the movies or a baseball game. I'm pretty cool when you're not babysitting me, you know; apparently I'm full of witty comebacks and snarky remarks. And a fantastic musical taste, I might add."

"You weren't bad when I was gettin' you over here either, kid." He smiles down at me fondly and I can't help but beam back up at him. My god, if he asked me to do cartwheels right now I'd be on it in a heartbeat, with back handsprings just to prove myself in his eyes. And I don't even know how to do any of that, I wasn't the most agile child in my gymnastics class, but for Logan, you can be damn sure I'd learn. Sweet Jesus, the way I'm carrying on here I sound like some dopey girl all hung up on a crush.

Right about here is where alarm bells start sounding off in my head, and I laugh up at him. "Bullshit, I was an obnoxious pain in the ass and you know it."

He puts a hand on my shoulder. "You're a piece of work kid. How're your ribs holding up? Red have a look at 'em?"

My god, I felt like I was talking to my Grandmother on a long distance call back to Ireland. "Yes, Logan. Dr. Grey said they were healing remarkably well and that given another month's time or so I should be ready to do some serious damage in your class. And by that, I mean learn how to actually throw a punch." Something caught in my mind and I gave him a suspicious look. "What's with all the questions, Chops?"

"Chuck's got a bit of an assignment for me, I'll be gone for a few days and I wanted to check up on ya' before I left." Straight and to the point, and I'll be fucked if it didn't kill some part of me. Assignments are missions and missions involve leather suits and codenames like "Wolverine" and the "X-Men". I frowned, growing somewhat anxious at the thought of it.

"I know this is probably the most retarded thing I can ask, considering that you have a healing factor that would make the entire sci-fi community jealous, but will you please try and be careful?"

A half grin, humoring me. "Yeah, kid. I'll do my best."

"Thank you. I know you probably have to get on your way now, and I don't want to keep you from doing whatever you have to, it's not my place. Take care, Logan. And safe travels." I would have attached some simple blessing to the end of that, but I am not my Granny and I would have looked completely stupid saying it. So instead I stood there, sending him from my room with a sad wave and by the look of him you wouldn't have guessed he was doing any more than going to "borrow" Professor Summer's Harley for a ride through the country. Worry gnawed at my gut, and I pushed my thoughts into the back of my mind, favoring instead a shower and a walk about the grounds for the time being.

Having cleaned myself up, I went downstairs, slipping outside and into the grey, overcast light that barely managed to shine down from above. I debated the act of handing Professor Munroe a bottle of Midol in hopes of there being some sunshine and lit a cigarette, deciding that I'd rather throw myself down a hillside of glass shards and used needles than face whatever came of such an encounter. It made me chuckle to think of it, though, and I laughed to myself as I strolled over by the gardens-

And quickly back, over to the side of the mansion when I realized I'd almost just walked in on Professor Summers and Doctor Grey kissing behind the rosebushes like a pair of teenagers. Oh sweet mother of Christ, I nearly choked. Trying desperately to stifle my laughter, I leaned up against the wall near the rear exit of the house and was moments later almost smacked in the face with the screen door, my hand stopping it barely two inches from my face.

"Fucking hell, do you think you could- Oh, hey Jubilee, what's that you've got there?"

The smaller girl, dressed in a pair of shorts and her trademarked yellow jacket grinned, throwing a bundle of something at me before speeding off. "Think fast!"

I caught it with one hand, narrowly missing the glowing embers at the end of my cigarette and I shouted after her. "Are you out of your mind? You almost lit the damned thing on fire!" When I looked down at what it was, though, I realized just how truly useless that would be in effect. I was holding John's leather jacket.

"Shit." Coming to understand the game quite quickly, which was, in short, "If John Catches You With His Shit, You'll Be Lucky If They Can Use Dental Records To Identify Your Charred Remains"; I dropped my cigarette to the ground, crushed it beneath a heel, and bolted. Hearing the door crash open a second time as I ran round a corner of the mansion, I knew I didn't have much time before I passed the jacket on to the next unsuspecting victim in the mansion's own, unique spin on "hot potato" or got my ass charbroiled. And fuck me gently with a chainsaw, there's not an unsuspecting victim in sight.

I risked a peek over my shoulder and redoubled my efforts heartily when I saw the look of concentrated anger on the pyromaniac's face, more so, when I noted the lighter he held in his hand. Abruptly, I stopped, turning to face him. My ribs and my brain, in a collective effort, hoped that he would too, and were beyond pleased when he skid to a halt nearly two feet in front of me, one arm extended. "Give it back, Mills."

I looked at his other hand, the top of the lighter hanging on its hinge threateningly, thumb at the ready. It was like a loaded gun with a finger pressed to the trigger. "Fuck you, Allerdyce, put the lighter away."

He glowered at me. "Give me my fucking jacket back, Mills, and I won't roast you. Got it?"

This wasn't my game, something I was well aware of, but the arrogant tone of his voice pissed me off something awful and I found myself chuckling as I realized my mood to have turned just as dark as my mentor's. "You can either ask me politely or your can bite me, Allerdyce. Pick one."

He bit.

_Hard._

I had just enough sense to duck and roll when the flames shot out at me and in what I can only describe as instinct brought out by the realization of _"Holy fuck, I am so dead",_ my mind latched onto the closest source of water nearby, namely the garden hose lying some fifteen feet to my left. In an instant the end of the hose exploded from the pressure, separating it from the side of the mansion as a jet of water shot toward my opponent, knocking him clean off his feet and sending him sprawling and when he scrambles back up a few seconds later, snarling, I'm not sure if we're playing anymore. The scary thing is that I'm no longer sure if we ever were. I drop the jacket to the ground beside me, using my will to bend the water to my needs when, an instant later, another blast of fire comes straight for me.

Yin and yang. Steam covers the entire area so fast that we're blinded in seconds, our makeshift fog so thick that I have to feel about in order to even find the jacket I put down beside me a moment ago. Lifting it into my arms I stop, listening for something, breathing, a sign of movement, anything. It's dead quiet and, nerves already tense from the fight and my nightmare earlier in the day, I try to push the giddy fear crawling up my throat back down into my stomach. A twig snaps to my right and I spin about, looking eyes searching the fog futilely. "…John? Are you there?" My nerves getting the best of me, I skirt off to the left, and run straight into the side of the mansion.

When I look up from where I'm lying on the ground, I'm surprised to see a pair of tennis shoes beside my head. The air around me is humid and dense, but I can feel the beginnings of cool raindrops falling gently down on me from above, and I'm thankful for them. Extending my arm upward, I hand John back his jacket and chuckle. "Good game."

"You're fucking retarded, Mills. I could have killed you, do you know that?" He's trying to sound intimidating, maybe even a little pissed off, but something's muddled it and mixed up the tonality of it. Now he just sounds petulant.

I wince, lifting myself off the ground. "Oh please, John. I'm not totally helpless. You have more to worry about with me, I'm the one with the kill switch, remember?"

He's standing close enough to me so that I can see him roll his eyes in the lightly falling rain. "Whatever, Mills. You're too chicken shit to pull a stunt like that anyway."

I cross my arms over my chest, giving him a look. "Or perhaps I'm just really not into killing my friends." For neither the first nor the last time, I have to stop myself from attaching the word "asshole" to the end of my sentence.

He regards me for a moment, the title I've just placed the two of us under, and then, slowly, he nods. He looks as though he's on the verge of speaking again, but he stills his tongue and, instead, takes me gently by the wrist, pulling me after him as we manage to navigate a way back into the mansion. And, coincidentally, right into Dr. Jean Grey.

I manage, for my part, to look at least a little guilty in front of my teacher, who looks expectantly from John to myself, awaiting an answer. John looks bored and I'm starting to panic, because even if she's not Professor Xavier, she's still a telepath and there's no way to lie around her and say that we were just testing our powers and not battling to the death over some stupid, beat-up leather jacket John skulks around in.

Obviously the woman is reading my mind right now, because I'll be damned if I didn't just see her smirk.

"I'm going to presume you two have an explanation for that?" she had her arms folded delicately and I fought hard not to chew nervously on my lip. Fucking telepaths.

"We're getting blamed because it's raining outside?" John quirked an eyebrow, I had to give him credit for trying.

"Not quite, St. John," she looks the both of us over and smiles. "Next time, ask for time in the Danger Room if you want to 'test your powers out'. Professor Munroe would have a fit if she found out you scorched her hedges."

I stand there, baffled, as I realize that we've just been let off the hook, by Professor Scott "I still have that giant poleax stuck up my rectum" Summers' make-out buddy no less. Goddamn, this place is just full of surprises.

"Of course, Dr. Grey. We'll be sure to do that next time, thank you," I supply dutifully, nodding like any good student ought to. Its right about then that I realize something has gone rather horribly awry. On my head. That smell, oh sweet Jesus no-

"And Adrian," Dr. Grey looks me over with a sympathetic eye. "You may want to consider booking an appointment with a hair stylist in town sometime today."

As the redheaded telepath walks back down the hall, after giving John another look, I stand there, rooted to the spot, gaping. Finally, I manage to talk. "You… you burnt off my hair?"

John sighs, probably wondering why I hadn't noticed earlier. "Fuck Mills, not all of it, just some of it in the front-"

"You burned off my hair?" I run over to a mirror hanging a few feet away and let out a small shriek. For the first time since I was eight years old, I have bangs. And they look absolutely ghastly. "Why didn't you fucking tell me you jackass! A little warning would have been nice! Maybe saying something like, 'Uh, sorry about that, Adrian, but you look like one of the Monkees' could have gotten the hint across!" I wanted to cry. And fuck, it's John, he'll never own up to it, never apologize.

"Christ, Mills, its hair! It'll grow back!" Some students are strolling about, giving us funny looks, but I'll be damned if I don't turn this into a full-on row in the next ten seconds.

"No shit, asshole! But until then, I'm the one who's going to be walking around looking like a fucking medieval minstrel!" I wheeled about, glaring at him. "I'm going to go and find my roommates and then you and I are going to have an absolutely fucking marvelous cat-fight, got it?"

John's eyes could have shot daggers at me. "Fucking get over it already, you're being completely over-dramatic; it was your fault anyway. And you know what? As fucking ridiculous as it looks now, it's better than it was before."

I leave before the urge to drown him in his own body fluids becomes too tempting. Taking the stairs two at a time I race back to my room and slam the door shut, fuming. Good god, if that reaction didn't just prove him right, I don't know what did. I want to throw a giant fit and just scream with the fury of it all. Before I can do anything though, a familiar head pokes through the door. Literally.

"Adrian, you there? …Oh my god." Kitty Pryde phases through the door and is at my side in an instant. "What happened?"

"I smell like someone barbequed an orphanage. Care to take a guess?" I'm scowling like a five year old, sitting on the edge of my bed and I don't care how infantile I may be acting. In two seconds flat Kitty comes back to my side with a pair of scissors.

"We're going to go into the bathroom and we're going to fix this," she smiles at me, taking my hand and helping me up. "And when I'm done with you, you're going to look totally cute."

"Fucking bastard burned off my hair," I muttered as she lead me into the lavatory. "I hope he goes bald at twenty." Kitty made a face at the mental image, as any sane person would have, and sat me down on the toilet seat. Grabbing a towel, she draped it over my shoulders, effectively covering me with it, and proceeded to brush my hair in firm, gentle strokes.

"Well, you can be glad that there aren't like, chunks of it missing. In fact, he had some pretty good aim with it, he literally only gave you bangs. They look like total crap now, but when I'm done fixing them up, you'll look fantastic," she beamed down at me. I gave her a half smile back, her cheerful nature rubbing off on me. God love the optimistic.

A few minutes later Kitty had me stand and look in the mirror. "Ta-da!" To be honest, I was completely surprised and rather delighted with her handiwork. Granted, it wasn't too hard to do, but I didn't look half bad. In fact, the bangs really looked fucking awesome.

"They actually help your facial features stand out," she pointed in the mirror. "See? Your cheekbones are really prominent with them like that." It was a polite way of saying that, while John was a total dick, his aesthetics weren't half bad. An underhanded compliment, but with tactics like that, was he expecting anything more?

I turned, hugging the other girl. "Thank you so much, Kitty. Honestly, you just made my day, I was so stupidly upset."

"Are you kidding? I'd have made sure he wouldn't be able to further his lineage." My roommate gives me a knowing look. "So, are you still going to find him and beat him into the ground?"

I gave her a predatory grin that would have made Logan jealous. "Oh, you fucking bet I am." And, a change of clothes later, I'm on the hunt, prowling about, putting my abilities to some good use as I try to discern whether or not John would be hiding out with a group of people to cover his ass or if he'd be off sulking alone. When I walk by the room he shares with Bobby, I get my answer.

My mind tells me that there are two people residing within the room currently, the water in their bodies giving them away to me sufficiently before I even lay my knuckles against the wood paneling to knock. A moment later Bobby opens the door, a boyish grin plastered across his face. "Oh, hey Adrian! Come on in, we were just talking about you, actually."

I raise an eyebrow and accept his invitation, walking into the room to find not John, but Rogue sitting easily along the top of Bobby's bed. "Hello Adri- oh mah gawd, what did ya' do t' yer hair? It's adorable!"

I rubbed the back of my neck, looking around the room. "I was actually hoping I could find John to, uh, _thank_ him for it."

Bobby looked incredulous. "John cut your hair for you?"

"Actually we had a bit of a spat when Jubilee decided to chuck me his jacket and run. We fought and he singed half my hair off." My anger had lessened significantly since Kitty had worked her wonders, but I was still interested in having a little chat with John about etiquette or whatnot sometime this afternoon, before I lost my nerve. "Kitty's the one who fixed it up."

"So that's what all the fog was earlier, I knew it wasn't natural," Bobby laughed. "Wow, you guys are crazy. Did you get in trouble for it?"

As the human freezer took a seat next to his girlfriend I shook my head. "Dr. Grey caught us when we came back in, but I think she thought the damage my ego took was probably punishment enough. She just told us to ask to use the danger room next time things got too harried and we needed to 'test our powers' against one another."

Rogue let out a bark of laughter. "Nice cover up, not that Ah'm sure she di'nt grasp the actuality o' the situation." She looked up at me, an almost hesitant expression upon her face. "Have ya' talked to yer friend at home yet?"

Maggie. "I emailed her last night, but I haven't had the chance to check it yet. I'm sure she's probably emailed me back. When I talked to her the other day she seemed better." I kept my gaze fixed on Bobby, wondering how much he'd told her. It wasn't really that I'd minded, as I'd planned on letting my roommates in on the situation with my friend later on, after I'd gotten it sorted out a bit more. I looked back to Rogue and suddenly the notion that they might have taken this delay of information personally occurred to me. Shit.

"Well, we don't wanna keep ya' from yer little excursion," she smiled. "We'll see ya' at dinner, yeah?"

I nodded. "Thanks you guys, I'll catch you later." I left the room and shut the door quietly, going downstairs to the recreation room with little to no intent left in me for the time being. I found Jubilee on the floor near the television set and sat beside her, enjoying the feeling of anonymity for the present time as many of the other students paid attention to the channel surfing or the various games being played about the room.

"Oh, hey chica! I didn't see you there," Jubilee noticed me, grinning. "Nice hair, by the way, totally cute. You get it done after running from our patron saint of jackasses?"

I gave her a wry grin. "Something like that. I still owe him his tip for it."

"Would that include a sock in the jaw or a trip to the nearest walk-in closet?" The Asian girl waggled her eyebrows at me and I gaped back in return.

"What the hell was that supposed to mean, Jubilation Lee?"

"Exactly what it sounded like, Adrian Mills. If you think the rest of us can't feel the tension around you two you're insane; you two are worse than Piotr and Kitty." She laughed at me and, for once, I was actually somewhat dumbfounded.

"I don't get it. John and I maim one another, Kitty and Piotr don't play dirty like that-" I was cut off as the other girl began howling with laughter. "Goddamnit, Jubilee, what the hell is so funny?"

I wouldn't find out what was funny then, though, nor would I ever hear her exact words on the situation at hand. The channel surfing had ceased without warning and the remote's possessor had stopped on CNN, a quick, hushed silence falling over the room as we took in the headlines.

_"…An group known as the Friends of Humanity, known for their role in what many have deemed 'the struggle against mutants', have grown more active in their public circuit. Based in Montana, the organization has a wide-spread following across the United States, ranging from the rural, sweeping fields of Kansas to even the streets Manhattan, where a protest was held today in opposition of what they regard to be 'The Mutant Agenda'. Kenneth Brown has more."_

We all sat there, our jaws hanging open and our eyes like lanterns reflecting the light off the television screen. There were hundreds- no, _thousands-_ of protestors gathered in Battery Park picketing and chanting, calling for the imprisonment of "Muties" and "Gene Freaks". Some signs carried by far less tolerant folk even appealed for our death as a collective whole, stating us to be a dangerous and villainous lot. We shrunk away from the T.V. as people were interviewed in turn, all shouting hellfire, damnation and brimstone as those from virtually ever color and creed balked us as an abomination among man.

Jubilee clutched my hand with a white-knuckled grip and, a second later, the television switched off. Professors Xavier and Munroe stood in the doorway, their expressions grim and I knew that, somehow, they'd been expecting something like this. Perhaps she'd felt it in the air or he'd had some sort of telepathic hint as to the media maelstrom that had flourished into being over the last five minutes, but regardless of who had learnt it first or what had happened in spite of it, they looked over us all with those calming, steady gazes we all knew and loved so well. I took a quick peek about the room and saw that nearly everyone was huddled against someone, whispering or taking comfort in their physical presence. I finally noticed John in a chair off by the corner, his expression blank. I wouldn't have even noticed him if it weren't for the uneasy clicking of his Zippo ringing out in the silence. Whatever tension Jubilee had been talking about pre-CNN broadcast, it didn't take a rocket scientist to realize that it didn't have shit on this. Finally, a beam of light seemed to shine on through the gloom, and we were drawn to it, unabashed in our anxiety, like moths.

"We cannot expect humanity to be fully accepting so early on, nor can we be so foolish as to think that every person, mutant or otherwise, will always coexist in peace and dignity. Humanity at large currently fears us, the hate mongers in the Friends of Humanity are seeing to that well enough, but that does not mean that there isn't still hope."

Professor Xavier looked about, his gaze sweeping the room with such steadfast confidence that we all listened, waiting on bated breath for him to continue. "My dear students, we cannot allow this hatred and this terror to consume our lives for to do so is to admit that we are a lesser folk. You have all been taught and are being taught to understand humanity, as they in time shall come to understand us. For even the greatest of minds during the most supreme of ages understanding was truly their greatest advantage. The tides of public opinion may be swept up in this dazzling media frenzy for the time being, but that does not mean that we are all so doomed as they might have us think."

Xavier and Munroe were two prime examples of mutants who had lived among humanity and survived it for what they were, "muties" and "gene freaks". And yet there they stood, all clad in iron back bones and adamantium composure. It brought a tranquility to the room that it had lacked previously and, slowly, the students began to chatter amongst one another, forming discussion groups about the news segment and comforting one another. John and I locked eyes over the crowd and nodded in understanding. Helping Jubilee stand beside me the three of us left the room and made our way outside.

I was almost surprised when I saw Bobby, Rogue, Piotr and Kitty by the side of the mansion, waiting for us. John and I lit up our cigarettes immediately while I kept an arm around Jubilee, who seemed fit to break. Had it been anything else I'd have cracked some smart aleck comment, asked who'd died or what had everyone's panties in a twist, but we all knew what was going on and no one found it funny. If anything, it was the closest thing to a wake-up call any of us had had in days, months, years. We had a new name and a new face to place with this hatred that had amassed against us after the Senator Kelly had switched his colors two years ago and despite how ridiculously stupid their name sounded there was little comfort to be held. Kitty stood closer to Piotr than normal and Bobby was holding Rogue, who looked almost haunted in the gloom. The rain had stopped sometime during the news and a damp, humid quality remained, making the entire situation all the more tangible despite our collective and unspoken wants for it to be otherwise. Now, more than ever, I wished Logan were here.

John stood alone within the lot of us, close to Bobby where I'm sure he thought he belonged. On that dreary afternoon, I felt something break within me, watching him stand so pale against the backdrop of the rose garden. I wished that he'd stood near me, perhaps I might have comforted him, or at least found a way to cease the constant clicking of his lighter as he fought to control the thoughts racing through his mind. Jubilee hugged tighter and I winced at the pressure on my ribs.

"What will we do?" She whispered, sounding very much like the sixteen year old girl she so rarely pretended to be.

It was Piotr who picked up the slack, his solemn face frank in the failing light, braving it all like another winter out in the steppes of Siberia. "We will continue to exist as we always have, just as the Professor said we would. The only thing that changes now is that the views of some extremists have been brought to the forefront of public knowledge. We will have to be careful, as we always have, but this is not our doom."

"They sound like a buncha lunatics," Rogue said, her voice apparent in it the surreal quiet that had taken over outside. "Ah hope the X-Men stop 'em soon."

The X-Men, every mutant kid's great hope, a role model to all during such dark times. At this I began to wonder just where it was Logan had gone off to, and to what end.

"I don't doubt that they will," Bobby smiled encouragingly. "I mean, come on, they're kicked Magneto's ass how many times? These are just a bunch of stupid, angry people, they can't control metal or shape shift or anything like that. The most that they can probably do is what we saw on the television; rant and parade about with lame signs chanting."

The threat was slowly being soothed from our minds. I took a long drag from my cigarette. "They're the adult world's idea of a really cool pep rally, and seriously, we all remember how lame those were," I paused. "Well, aside from you, Piotr, no offense."

"I have in my memory my own fair share of protests to recall," the Russian smiled grimly. "But yes, I know what you mean."

"Then what the fuck are we all worried about? This is like when Ice-T did 'Fuck the Police' and people gathered en masse to bulldoze his album. The guy plays a detective on fucking _Law & Order_ now, if he can get away with that, we'll be fine." It's a stretch insofar as analogies go, but it makes Kitty smile, entices a bit of a giggle from Jubilee and I know the situation is salvaged. The only one silent now is John, and I study him from where I stand, wondering at his beliefs surrounding it all. "Penny for your thoughts, Prometheus."

And St. John does the only thing he does better than throwing fire balls at me on a Saturday morning. He shrugs and says "Whatever." We all cling to our makeshift security, but John, he's a realist, he bears the full burnt of it without a word in his defense. It's right about then that I recall my conversation at the mall with Piotr a few days back, my own claims to realism and my supposedly steadfast nature. We mold and change to fit the situation; one look at the fragility of Jubilee and Kitty is enough to tell me that the others probably understand the real weight of this all, but that our composure is necessary for the group as a whole. Because if this tells us anything, if this gives us any clue to the future, things have changed past the point of familiarity.

_"It was crime at the time but the laws, we changed 'em."_

I crush the butt of my cigarette under my heel and put my arm a little tighter about Jubilee, because suddenly, I don't feel as sure about all of this as I used to. We're a strange lot, an amalgamation of oddities in our own right, and this will be our first real step into the harsh nature that our forebears have fought so ardently against. I chew at my lip and I wonder, against my own supposedly hopeful nature, if we'll be enough to see it through. Abruptly whatever security I have left fades down to almost nothing and I'm surprised to find myself blinking to hold back the tears. I never signed up for this. The wind blows, now harsh and unrelenting in the dawning twilight of the early evening and we brave it, though not without the tremors that shiver and shake out of our flesh.  
-----

Lyrics from The New Pornographers' 'The Laws Have Changed'.

Reviews equal love. No, seriously.


	14. This Boy

Author's Notes: I had expected to have this out weeks ago, and I both apologize profusely for the delay and thank all of you for your patience. Now that the elements are once again in my favor (or so I hope) I'll hopefully have things under a bit more control, giving me a little more time to work on this. Much thanks again to all of you who have reviewed, I cannot even begin to thank you for your support and, hopefully, with this chapter you'll be rewarded. Consider it a pleasant interlude, if you will. I hope you enjoy it, and reviews are appreciated to the utmost. Thanks again, you guys are fantastic.

Disclaimer: I OWN EVARYTHING LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOL!11!111!1one!eleventy! J/K MARVEL PWNS ME.

"_I am with you, now I've got to explain  
Things that have changed in such a permanent way.  
Life seems unreal, can we go back to your place?  
You drink too much, makes me drink just the same."_  
-The Strokes, 'Alone Together'

Chapter 14- "This Boy"

The night had a hollow tinge to it, tainted by the events broadcasted earlier on CNN and it was so obvious I could have slapped myself. The tension within the mansion was so tangible, so visibly apparent that the proverbial cut of the knife wasn't even necessary. Irritated as a result of the stress we all underwent as a price, I stalked about the place, silently bemoaning the reality that my store of cigarettes was waning and that despite the fact that I was in desperate need of a good stroll out of the grounds, I probably wasn't going to get it. Moods like this beg for destruction, a chance to unleash oneself in a merciless and unrelenting fashion upon something and all I needed was a little push to set me over the edge.

A thought came to mind and I laughed into the empty corridor before me; so this is what it was to be John or Logan, to have that trapped, caged sense constantly haunting your every waking move. I couldn't bear it, I had to get out, I had to do something. I turned and walked calmly back downstairs, past the cafeteria and into large room housing the pool. During times like these John would be torching everything he could get his hands on and Logan would be sniffing around for an easy bar fight, searching for something to break. But me? Fuck, all I wanted was to get away from reality for a little while and wash it all away. Striding to the edge of the pool, I kicked off my shoes and dove in without a second thought, my clothing weighing me to the bottom almost instantaneously, the air rushing out of me and fleeing to the top in a frenzy of bubbles.

Before my mutation surfaced, the weeks preceding my arrival at that innocuous, grand house on Greymalkin Lane, sitting at the bottom of a pool like this would have terrified me, and rightly so; the very notion of drowning was something that had always perturbed me, and as a result I'd been a little hesitant with swimming as a child. Now, though, I hadn't a care in the world. I barely had to think of it before literal tubes of air made their way down to me, connecting the surface air above with my nose so that I might breathe beneath the world. It was all so simple, so effortlessly easy down here, I stretched back on the floor my arms splayed out at my sides as the gentle currents ebbed and flowed around me, gently pulling at hair and clothing. This, I realized, was peace. Down here there was no anger, no blind terror, no looming threats. Nothing. The muffled expanse of the water surrounding me was all that mattered and I felt the apprehension that had engulfed me earlier ebbing away.

We'd stayed outside a bit longer together, in the silence and that wind that was uncharacteristically cool for a late April such as this. Professor Munroe, despite her composure, was still bound like any other mere mortal to her emotions, though I'd heard some students whispering of her previous position before Xavier had found her and talked her into a teaching position. My movements slowed significantly by the water, I shook my head, wondering who on earth would give up the chance to be a Goddess for a bunch of stupid kids. But I knew her well enough from my training sessions by now to understand how much this meant to her, preparing the world for a tomorrow that might never come if today was ruined by the ignorant, swarming masses of humanity sided against us once and for all. She was a smart woman, and Storm understood that even Goddesses had to do grunt work sometimes. Oddly enough, she didn't seem to mind it much, something I, as her student and quasi-apprentice, was grateful for. I sighed, slipping into a semi-conscious state as the world above fell away amidst a haze of blue.

I'm not sure how long I remained there at the bottom of the pool, but after what seemed like minutes later I became acutely aware of another significantly smaller body of water standing at the edge of the pool. Not wanting to frighten anyone into thinking I'd drowned myself, because god knows I've got enough shit spreading about me right now without any attempted suicide stories, I allowed myself to float gently up to the top, the water pushing me up until I stood easily on the surface. Dripping wet, I blinked the water from my eyes and set a hand on my hip. "Yes?"

"That has gotta be one o' the niftiest little tricks Ah've evah seen," Rogue grinned at me from the ledge of the pool. "What're ya' up to?"

I shrugged. "Fuck all, to be honest. I just wanted to get away from everything for a moment; I was getting sort of cagey. Why, anything going on?"

"Well," Rogue drew the word out, her fantastic Mississippi accent giving it a velvety tone. "Kitty put in a request to Dr. Grey yesterday night and she's willin' to take us over to the mall to see a movie. You wanna come?"

Holy fuck, they were letting us out. "Of course I do! Just let me-" In my excitement I lost grip of concentration and the surface gave way beneath me. I fell in with a splash and, irritated, brought myself back up a few feet closer to my friend, who was laughing helplessly by the time I had come back. "I'm still getting the hang of it, obviously."

"It's all right. C'mon, let's get ya' outta that wet stuff 'n into somethin' a bit less, well, Jubes can explain it to ya'." She offered me her gloved hand and I took it, stepping easily from the water onto the landing and picking up my shoes.

"I can just zap myself dry if I need to get dry, I mean-" Rogue shook her head.

"Nah, they wanna go out all dolled up, Ah think, lookin' classy 'n all that. It's not nearly eight o'clock yet 'n Ah think we were gonna go grab somethin' to eat before hand. Ya' all right with that?"

I shrugged as we walked through the halls, my wet feet slapping lightly against the hardwood floor. "I guess it's all right. I'm not really into dress wear, but something tells me Jubilee and Kitty already have something planned out, so I'd do better not to argue with them." The look Rogue gave me confirmed my suspicions and I chuckled. "Who else is coming?"

"The boys, of course. They've got th' same instructions we do. Which, by the way, is to be ready promptly at eight down 'n the foyer so that Professor Summers 'n Dr. Grey can drive us all over for dinner."

I raised an eyebrow at her as we neared our door. "I have to be ready by eight? Isn't that in a few minutes? Good god, how long was I down there; it felt like years passed above."

"Ya' were gone fer about an hour or so, not too long. Were ya' under there the entire time?" I nodded and she let out a soft curse. "Damn, Adrian. If it'd been anybody but me that'd found ya' they'd 've thought ya'd killed ya'self."

I laughed. "Oddly enough, I considered that." Kitty's head popped through the door and, god help me, I really did almost die.

"Come on, you two, you can chatter all you like while we get ready," taking us by the hands she pulled us through the door. "Now Adrian, do that awesome little anti-water thing you're so good at and put on the stuff Jubes has for you, we don't want to be late or the boys will never let us live it down."

"You really got on their asses about being there at eight, didn't you?" I smiled, closing my eyes and focusing my thoughts until I opened them again, my clothes and skin pleasantly devoid of water.

"Oh god, like you wouldn't believe," Jubilee handed me some of the things she and Kitty had picked out for me on our shopping spree. "Even Piotr looked like he wanted to hit something."

Kitty looked up from her hand mirror, horrified. "Did he really?"

"Goodness no! It was just a, uh, figure of speech," Jubilee practically tore my shirt off of me, trying to help me get ready and avoiding Kitty's gaze all the while.

"Jubes, Ah think Adrian can dress herself, she's a big girl," Rogue called from within the bathroom, applying a lovely shade of scarlet to her lips. Fuck, this was ridiculous, I felt like I was getting ready to go to the prom. The Chinese girl gave me a sheepish look, laughing.

"Don't worry about it. We're roommates, if one of us hasn't seen someone half naked, there's a problem here." I pulled on the shirt she'd handed me, a plain hounds' tooth pattern adorning it in black and white and made a face at the skirt she dangled from a finger. "Do I really have to?"

"Kitty's orders, chica. If you don't, she'll scratch you." I took the offending garment and stripped my jeans off, still a bit damp despite myself. Pulling on the black fabric, I was pleased to note that it was at least longer than what my friend was wearing. Mini-skirts would have felt too lengthy around it. And of course, in typical Jubilee fashion, the damn thing was the color of a highlighter. I suppressed the urge to grab some sunglasses and turned my attention to the girl in the pony tail. "Is this better?"

Looking up from the sandals she was slipping onto her feet, Kitty nodded. "Much. Do these make my feet look big?"

"Fer gawd's sake, Kitty, if yer feet 'r big we're all giants. Ya' have the tiniest feet in th' whole mid-West, stop yer worryin'," Rogue came out of the bathroom looking very much the sultry Southern I imagined she'd grow up to be. The air of assurance that surrounded her was something to be jealous of, and I almost was, as I by-passed her to get into the bathroom and brush my hair out. I didn't look ridiculous, but I wasn't nearly at the state the others were in this stage in the game. Almost as if she read my mind, Rogue came back into the lavatory, carrying a small bag.

"Since Ah don't think ya' want to look like a road-way sign, I'm gonna fix ya' up a bit before Jubes catches hold o' ya'," she set her bag down on the sink and went to work. By the time she'd finished a little while later, I knew we were cutting it close and I thanked her, slipping into a pair of flats.

"It's no problem, sugah. And try to use some eyeliner sometime, it really makes yer eyes stand out." Awkward with the compliments I merely smiled in response and grabbed the purse that had been laid out on my bed, stuffing money and some other nick-knacks into it before we ran out the door, Jubilee nearly tripping over the banister of the stairs as we raced down them as gracefully- or gracelessly- as possible.

"Be here at eight, huh?" Bobby grinned knowingly at the lot of us as we skidded into the front room. "You guys got on our asses about it so much we were sure to be here by ten of."

Kitty looked somewhat guilty but gave a pretty smile anyway and Piotr, always the gentleman, offered her his arm. Bobby and Rogue paired up and John, Jubilee and I, the only three who weren't involved in some sort of quasi-romantic shindig, glanced at one another.

"Well, we can at least take console in the fact that we'd be a pretty hot threesome," the yellow-clad girl waggled her eyebrows and I laughed despite myself.

"Sure thing, Jubes. Now I know what to say if all my future plans fail and I'm living out my life as a cheap call-girl on the lower-east-side. Thank you." My attentions turned to the door, though, as Dr. Grey and Professor Summers came through, looking quite well for themselves indeed. He must have been escorting her out for the evening, because I'll be damned if he didn't look in the least bit pleased with himself, dressed in a smart looking suit and tie. Dr. Grey appeared not to have pulled any stops either, I can safely say that I would have kissed her if given the opportunity, she was so beautiful. Sweet Jesus, the things people manage to hide underneath a lab coat. The boys seemed to approve and, without any great finale we all piled into the SUV Summers had parked in the driveway, reflecting up at the starless sky.

"It's going to be another rainy night, I wish Ororo would let up already," Professor Summers said to Dr. Grey with a grin, opening her door for her as we piled in as quickly as possible, strapping in seatbelts as well as the tight fit would allow us. I covered my brief surprise at the familiarity with which he spoke of my teacher, as I'd never heard anyone but Professor Xavier speak of her as such, but it was said with a cordiality born of a long-standing friendship, and as a result I shrugged it off. Looking out the window as we drove away, I watched the first drops of rain beginning to plummet down from the heavens, feeling them as keenly with my mind at that instant as if they'd been falling on me, little liquid needles pricking my skin.

The ride to the plaza was brief and uneventful, we were dropped off and told to call when our film had ended and we were ready to return to the school. With a chorus of thanks they departed and we made our way out of the drizzle and into a nearby Italian restaurant, good spirits prevailing despite the weather. Everyone seemed pleased with our professors' collective trust in us, though the only thing John said was that he was happy he wouldn't have to sneak out again, earning an eye-roll from Jubilee and a good-natured laugh from Bobby. The waiter came by and took our drink orders and the lot of us began perusing the menus with great interest, a small mob of hungry teenagers being nothing trivial to contend with. When our server returned our meals were decided and he departed, leaving us with our drinks and a bread basket with which to temporarily sate ourselves.

"What are we seeing tonight, anyway?" I asked, still being clueless as to most of the goings-on of the evening.

"We'll have to decide when we get there, no one could make up their minds earlier," Piotr responded, buttering a piece of bread rather delicately.

Jubilee put up her hands in defense. "Hey, everyone already knows what I wanna see."

"Yeah, and everyone agreed that it was shit," John replied, taking a long draught from his glass of Coke. "This season's _Sweet Home Alabama_ isn't worth-"

"Settle down, ya'll, we'll find somethin' to keep everyone happy with," the muffled "Ah hope" that followed got a snort of laughter from Kitty, who was watching Piotr draw on the back of his paper placemat with great interest. Intrigued, I peeked over her shoulder and almost choked with laughter. As always, the Jolly Russian Giant's little illustrations never failed to amuse, caricatures of Jubilee and John, complete with large, sharp teeth, snarled at one another from opposite sides of a kennel and it was all too perfect a summation of their previous display to go unaccredited. I grinned over at him and started a conversation with Bobby about how lovely his girlfriend looked. Rogue, ever the Southern Belle, colored prettily.

"Ya'll 'r makin' me blush, quit it," she fiddled with the napkin placed daintily upon her lap and I grinned again, sharing a wink with her doting lover. I was thrilled to note that all of us- even Jubilee with her blinding highlighter outfit- looked fantastic, well dressed and in good humor. Considering how poorly the first half of the day had gone, this was quite a pleasant turn-around.

Our food arrived about a half an hour later and we all dug in eagerly, though still in a decent mood. Even John had toned down a bit, offering up a "thanks" when Kitty passed him the parmesan for his pasta. I munched happily on my gnocchi and wondered how long it had been since I'd been in the company of people I was this comfortable around. Maggie and Logan were the only two people that came to mind at the moment and, considering that my emotions were somewhat touchy about both of them at present, I changed tactics and offered Jubilee to try some of my food.

"No thanks, chica, me and my vegetarian mini-pizza over here are doing just fine," she took another bite of it, a satisfied expression on her face.

"You're vegetarian? I had no idea," I munched on another fork-full of delicious potato pasta, wishing fruitlessly that I had a glass of wine to go with so fine a meal. My friend shook her head.

"Hell no, I just like pretending I'm healthy sometimes." The bark of laughter was a catalyst and suddenly, like any great chain reaction, I was laughing too. Such an evening of reprieve had been a long time in coming and it would have been a shame not to properly enjoy it. After we'd finished eating we paid our tab and walked out the door and stood under the awning, rain pouring down around us, much to the group's discontent.

"The theater's all the way at the end, we're going to get totally soaked!" Kitty complained. Leave it to us not have grabbed an umbrella between everyone. Go team awesome.

"Guess we'll just have to run through it," Bobby smiled boyishly, looking as if he might enjoy this far more than he was supposed to under the circumstances. The next wave of movies were bound to start soon, and so it was decided we'd make a run for it to the theater. Jubilee gave us the obligatory countdown and we were off, leaping through puddles and shouting amidst the downpour. Piotr had scooped Kitty up the instant we'd began running and she squealed happily, thrilled to be treated in so lady-like a manner. I glanced back and saw Rogue give Bobby the briefest of kisses (presumably before her mutation kicked in as I didn't see him stagger or, well, die) in the rain and smiled, glad for them. Jubilee, of course, being one ill-fated to resist temptation, sparked St. John in the backside and scampered off faster than either of us could have without the rain coming down in sheets, hindering our movement. The flats I was wearing had filled with water, making a squishy-slap noise as I ran, laughing into the gale. Everything, the feeling of it all, was so perfect I didn't know what to do with myself. I stopped for a moment in the middle of the cobblestone walkway, lifting my face upward to the rain and grinning wildly as water soaked me to the bone.

"Adrian, are you insane? Get over here; you're going to freeze your ass off when we get into the theater!" I heard a few moments later, placing it's origin from either Kitty or Jubilee. I was so caught up in sensation that I'd forgotten where I was for a moment. Recalling myself, I dashed back over to the others with a smile as we queued for our tickets. John looked positively cantankerous, scowling as water dripped off the ends of his hair and down his face. All too easily I was reminded of a large, wet, angry housecat (one very similar to the lovely beast that belonged to Maggie, in fact) and I burst into laughter, earning my fair share of strange looks. I was so drunk on my happiness, high from the liquid joy that bubbled forth from within the wellspring of my mind that I could have given a fuck what everyone else thought. My friends were cheerful, I was exultant, and the night was young. For the first time in a long while I acknowledged how glad I was to be alive.

We bought tickets to see some lameass horror remake and went into the ultra-air-conditioned lobby to shiver near the concession stands for a bit- excluding Bobby and Piotr, of course- until our theater was ready. Truth be told, I loathe horror films to the utmost, but I couldn't resist the chance to scare the ever-loving shit out of someone as a result of it and neither, if looks meant anything, could John and Bobby.

Ah, the Dynamic Duo, ever the opposites yet so very much alike. It was eerie to watch them, knowing how much my own relationship with St. John was parallel with it, to an extent. John and I aren't Fire and Ice, I'm not Bobby and there's no way I'd put up the pretense; the kid's an Omega, for chrissake. John and I, we're Fire and Water, and where ice, limited in it's rigid, solid form, might keep steadfast, as a liquid I _react;_ we're at a constant thrust and parry. John and Bobby effectively cancel one another out, but Prometheus and I? Well, I'll be damned if we don't go above and beyond the call of duty when it comes to infuriating one another. In order for one to even consider nullifying the other an excessive force of will is required, and fuck if we're not two of the most stubborn people in the school. It'll make for interesting training sessions once my ribs are done healing, of that I'm certain.

People purchase their assorted snack food and drink necessities and we stride off toward our theater, the normalcy of the evening a breath of fresh air to everyone involved. For but an evening we're average kids out on a Saturday night, a group of friends enjoying their time together in the time-honored, American tradition of going to the cinema. I can't help but grin when I see that we're the first people in the theater and, after a small bit of arguing, we find seats with negligible bickering. Bobby seats himself at one end and Rogue follows him in, accompanied by Kitty, Piotr, John, myself and Jubilee, who insists upon being on the other end of our line telling me that if she finishes the massive soda she'd bought earlier that it'll be an easy run to the restrooms. I chuckle quietly and seat myself, still fairly damp, but contented to relax until the previews started. And they begin soon after, each trailer bringing to us something dull-witted or flashy for our peanut gallery comments, though a few looked surprisingly good. Our whispers echoed in the silence as our feature presentation began to roll onto the screen and Jubilee gave me an exaggerated thumbs-up for effect.

As always with such films, the creepy music begins and I feel the hairs on the back of my neck begin to stand, though not from the air conditioning blasting around the interior of the theater. Within minutes the first victim is slaughtered and I'm left, though still in the company of my friends, wondering what on earth was wrong with me to so make me agree to this movie? Creepy little dead children wandering around through curses killing unwitting people really wasn't me cup of tea, though I imagined that Kitty was probably the only other person who was really getting creeped out by this in any obvious way. A glance to my left confirmed my beliefs, the smaller girl having almost wrapped herself around her consort's arm, peeking out from behind it when the crescendos had died down and people were no longer screaming. Bobby and Rogue shared their bowl of popcorn, munching on it thoughtfully, and John looked beyond bored. For a moment, I actually thought he'd fallen asleep. I realized my error, though, when he winked at me and I scowled, knowing that he'd seen my irrational and childish fear. Looking straight ahead I watched the plot begin in its desperate, vain attempts to unfurl and whispered to Jubilee.

"This movie is so full of shit, there have already been three major plot holes and it hasn't even chugged on past the first hour," I informed her confidently, seeing her nod out of the corner of my eye.

"Seriously, chica, these Japanese horror remakes are crap. If you wanna really get scared we should totally- Ohmygodwhatthehellwasthat?" the other girl yelped, nearly throwing her beverage on me. I wasn't sure if I should be more wary of Creepy Little Dead Girl or _Dr. Pepper_ at this moment, but the last scene was definitely a little more than unnerving. Our commentary cut short by the executioner's ax, however fictitious it may have been, Jubilee and I were quiet for the remainder of the film. At one point I'd gripped the armrests on either side of me, sinking down into the seat so far as decency would allow in my current attire, my knees blocking most of my view of the screen. This all became null and void, though, when I realized that one of my arm rests had an arm already attached to it and I squawked so loud Bobby choked on his popcorn. John, having thus removed his offending limb, laughed so hard the other people in the theater became annoyed and he quieted when they threatened to call the matron. I didn't have to look to see that he was fingering his lighter through his pocket, annoyed with their arrogance and I glared back at him, once again returning my gaze to the screen.

After nearly two hours the movie let out and we gathered ourselves and proceeded to exit the theater, chattering as to our discontent with the quality of the film. Rogue told us that the acting was deplorable while Piotr insisted that we should expect nothing less from Hollywood swill. All of us agreed that the film was a bit of a waste, but that it had definitely kept up to par with the jumpy scares and surprises.

"The worst part is that you totally know there's going to be a sequel in like, a year," Jubilee tossed her drink into a nearby trash can. A few of us noted the small grin that had crept onto the walking Michelangelo sculpture's face and I laughed, knowing that regardless of how terrible the movie may have been, he'd certainly enjoyed himself. As, I realized, had I. Bobby went over to a nearby pay phone and set about calling Professors Summers to come an retrieve us and the rest of us stood out on the pavement under the faint drizzle, looking up at the sky. There were so many puddles around, it was hard to resist the temptation to splash about in them or cast them to do my bidding, but I held off, noting the groups of people leaving the theater as they went on their way to the parking lot. For the moment I contented myself in brief solitude, staring down at my reflection in one of the shallow pools. Soon another face appeared, to my right, a handsome one, with full, smirking lips and deep, dark eyes. I looked up.

"Enjoy the movie?"

John gave a snort. "It was lame as hell, Mills. Only the chicks were freaking out."

I eyed him carefully, noting the damp yet still appreciative dress wear he'd chosen for the occasion. "Yes, indeed. Do note, though, that I wasn't the first one holding onto the armrest white-knuckled."

He gave a short laugh. "Are you saying I was scared?"

I shrugged in turn, holding his gaze and giving him a small grin of my own. "I'm saying that it's a possibility. A very likely one, at that. The only people there in that theater who probably didn't jump at least once were Piotr and the old man sleeping in the front row."

"Fiction doesn't scare me, Mills," John looked at me, his smirk gone. There was almost a challenge to his tone, so subtle one would have missed it if they weren't looking for it. Lucky for me I'm so goddamn perceptive.

I cocked an eyebrow, a hand automatically going to my hip. "And what, pray tell, does, John?" The use of a formal, Christian name, it helps to blur the conversation between casual banter and intimate introspective, almost an interrogation but with far less force. It's a dance, a tango, wits pressed together, going through the motions as the band plays along, that sultry sound carrying on into one's very blood, moving us along like puppets to its whim. And yet who is the aggressor? Who leads in this ambiguous shuffle of feet, and who turns away, the blushing maiden? John opens his mouth to answer, a sneer already painted upon his face, when a vehicle pulls up alongside us. Professor Summers and Dr. Grey have arrived to take us home.

We all pile in and Professor Summers has the radio on the classic rock station, which earns a frown in distaste from me as I scrunch into my seat. I can't help but entertain the notion that "Don't Fear the Reaper" is merely a ruse, that when he gets back home to the mansion and settles in that he really puts on the _Straight Outta Compton_ album and I see Dr. Grey giggle in the front seat. Noting that I'm projecting my thoughts, I tone it down a little and look out the window as we drive onward. Conversations soon begin to drown out the radio, for which I shall be eternally thankful, as everyone relays their night, teachers and students listening eagerly to one another in a way that is so much like family I catch myself. To many of the students- and even teachers- Xavier's mansion isn't just a school or a social commune, it's home in the most basic and true sense of the word. Realizing that I've none back in Los Angeles, not after having become a mutant and thusly run out on my kin, it begins to dawn on me that I'm one of them now and I remain quiet for the duration of the trip, lost in my thoughts.

We return to the school and depart the vehicle, thanking our elders for allowing us to go out and have such a good time. Many of us walk in, arms linked, laughing and talking to one another in easy companionship. Only two lone people walk slowly back into the mansion, and for god's sake, weren't we contented just arguing earlier? A soft sigh escaping my lips, I increase my pace, walking past St. John Allerdyce and out into the foyer, that open space where so many paths meet.

"Hey." It's not a shout, by no means something loud to call my attention, but there's a weight it carries and I stop, turning to look over my shoulder.

"Yes, Prometheus?" Back to the nicknames, the safe, chummy words we associate with one another. I've got too much on my mind right now to play games with the flame thrower, I'd rather check my email, see if Mags finally responded. Getting changed into some dry clothes would be nice too, but with the look I'm getting now I have my doubts as to if any of that will be happening within the next twenty minutes.

"Wanna get a drink?" The unspoken reference to Professor Munroe's tequila is discreet, something an eavesdropper of the non-telepathic variety would have a bit of trouble deciphering without seeming completely paranoid; two friends and classmates going to get some juice from the kitchen before bed or retreating to the rec. room, nothing more. But we know better, I know better, and I nod, following him into the room without so much as a word passing between us.

We arrive to an empty space, the counters wiped clean and sparkling from the dinner that took place earlier in the evening and John makes quick work of going up above the refrigerator to the cupboard beyond, sticking nearly half his body into it before he comes out with what he sought. He hands me down the bottle, _Patrón_, I note, before jumping down beside me, taking it gently from my grasp and hiding it under his arm in that leather jacket of his he probably thinks makes him look oh-so-tough and unapproachable. Wordlessly, without so much as a glance between the two of us, we exit the room.

That's really the thing, isn't it? John tried to act like piss and vinegar, but when it came down to it he wasn't so different from the rest of us. Whether he liked to admit it or not, he still had needs, vital necessities he'd gone far too long without satisfying. Companionship was something he'd been denied before coming to the institute, that much was almost painfully obvious to anyone who knew how to look for it, and we sought to aid him as a collective. Everyone had their vices; Bobby needed to smile all the time, needed for everything to be okay for whatever reason, and we indulged him. Rogue was terrified of becoming close to anyone, physically or otherwise (and with good reason for the former) but we still hugged her and held her hand out of friendship. Piotr missed the sweeping steppes of his homeland and perhaps as a result was prone to bouts of moodiness for which we gave him his space and listened when he had anything to say of it. And Kitty and Jubilee both had abandonment issues in spades where their parents were concerned, when they needed someone to look up to, you can bet your life that we were there to aid them. And me? Shit, I don't even know where to begin. I'll file that under "Let's Not And Say We Did", a project for a rainy day, if you will, where the water runs down the windowpanes in rivulets and gently bathes the earth below.

We all had our vices and our ways of coping with them. Being a mutant as well as being a teenager just adds on to the complications of adolescence, and I'll be damned if we're not all the poster children of it. But keeping tonight in mind, I'd be lying if I said we didn't know how to get along and live our lives regardless of it. Perhaps even as a result of it, in many cases. In spite of it. Further proof to our cause, another hearty laugh at the omnipotent Man pulling all the strings from above. We're evolution within evolution, and there's fuckall you can do to keep us down.

A quick look about the deserted halls and a brief moment before the door to the attic was opened. John produced a ball of flame from his lighter and we set up and on our way along the old narrow staircase. He didn't hold my hand. The veneer of arrogance and nonchalance he wore wrapped about him like a cloak and I paid it no mind; everyone has their way of dealing with things, who am I to be so high and mighty about it? We crossed the threshold of the attic more quickly this time, opening the window at the far end and stepping out onto the roof almost as though we were pursued by unseen things. Recalling the movie we'd just come from, I shivered and shut the window tightly.

"Cold?" The voice came from beside my ear and I nearly jumped out of my skin, already giddy and nervous from the horror film we'd just seen. Jesus, what the hell was I thinking going to see that trash? In retrospect I felt pretty stupid, knowing that it'd be days before I'd get a decent night's sleep again, all at the behest of my over-active imagination.

I shook my head in response. "No, I'm fine, thanks." The arched brow I turned to face clearly thought otherwise and I ran through the three choices I had for potential warmth. Now that I thought about it, the added chill of the evening wasn't exactly pleasant. Which would it be, fire, liquor or cloth? I heard the cork-stopper pulled from the second option and accepted the bottle from its current possessor, nodding my thanks as I drank deep and gasped from the burn.

"Pity we haven't any lime," I murmured jokingly, a smirk playing across my lips. "It'd be a fucking Mexican fiesta up here."

John gives a noncommittal grunt and takes a swig of the alcohol, no gasp. I look down and see the bottle of whiskey against the wall, still sporting a decent amount of liquor despite our last excursion. Deciding against mixing the two drinks, and probably for the better, I move it aside and sit, instantly regretting it when my backside is met with a small pool of cool rainwater. "Son of a- goddamnit."

Concentrating, I will all of the remaining water off our portion of the roof, thus drying my backside and giving us someplace dry to seat ourselves. Seeing that I've cleared the way for him, John follows suit and seats himself beside me, passing me the bottle. We share the silence for a moment as I take a sip out of the small bottle, looking up at the cloudy sky. Despite the weather, Professor Munroe couldn't have been having too terrible a day if she hadn't taken her tequila with her, so I assumed her mood was changing for the better. Satisfied, I leaned back against the wall, my bare shoulder brushing against the smooth leather of John's coat. Remembering myself, I fruitlessly tugged my skirt down over my legs a bit more, deflating somewhat when it stayed where it was despite my efforts.

John must have noticed my fidgeting. "You look nice."

It was only three words, but they took me aback none the less. Trying to cover my surprise I replied. "So do you, water-logged as you are."

"You too, Mills," he took another drink and settled the bottle between us, not that there was much space. By Christ it was cold up here, the roof is always a better hangout spot when one is clad in pants, a fact I'd take care to recall in the future. For now, though, there's not much I can do other than drink, shiver, and will the chills away. I hear a

familiar click as John flicks his lighter open, and when the light of the flame bathes the area in a gentle, orange glow, I turn to glance up at him.

"I'm not cold enough to warrant being lit on fire, put that away," I look about, almost as if the professors will see the light and come out to get us. A silly fear, I know, and John rolls his eyes at me, pulling off his jacket and holding it out to me. I stare stupidly at it for a moment before he speaks, dumping the garment into my lap.

"Fucking take it, Mills. I'm sick of watching you freeze your ass off, you could have changed, you know."

"Oh, yeah, because that would have been something to explain to the girls, _'I'm just going to freshen up before I go off to meet my drinking buddy, toodles!'_ Kitty would have had a coronary. Besides, it's not like you gave me an opportunity to," I shrugged the coat on, silently reveling in the warmth, the comforting, musty scent of leather, smoke and something else, something subtle that I couldn't place. It was big enough for me to wrap it halfway around my knees when I tucked them in, and I sat like that with him for a bit longer, listening as he fiddled with his Zippo in the near darkness of the night.

"You could have told me, I would have waited." It came a minute or two later, I'd almost forgotten what we were talking about until he spoke again and I shook my head.

"No, you wouldn't have. You would have come up here anyway because that's what you do. You're St. John Allerdyce, you don't go out of your way for people and you don't put up with anyone else's shit."

John smirked into the night. "If you've got me so well figured out, what's this?" He fingered the end of one of the jacket sleeves and I shrugged.

"The means to an end. You found my shivering to be displeasing, so you ended it. It's as simple as that." Without really thinking about it, I leaned my head on his shoulder. He didn't pull away and I stayed like that, somewhat saddened by the analysis I'd just given, though for what reason I couldn't discern. Perhaps part of me really wanted to think that I'd grown closer to John, that we'd have something more than a capricious friendship upon gossamer wings. I sighed, taking another sip from the tequila bottle. I'd learned that his eyes were blue, not brown, didn't that count for something in this life?

John lit a flame and I watched as it left the lighter, curling into the palm of his hand like a trained beast. My eyes followed it as it moved lazily, hovering in the air, sensuous and warm like the alcohol in my belly and the faint burning in my throat. Against the backdrop of the night sky it was breath-taking. Tilting my head slightly, I looked up at John, saw his eyes reflecting that bright glow and my breath caught in my throat. It's a sight I doubt I'll ever get used to, the rapt, captivated yet wholly empowered expression upon his features.

"It's like that Velvet Underground song, isn't it? _'Heroin, it's my wife, it's my life'."_ I sang the last part softly and he nodded, extinguishing the flame with a closed fist.

"Yeah, it really is. Whenever I wield the fire, it's like…" He paused, mulling over the words. "It's addictive, like a drug, but it's also a part of me in ways I can't even hope to describe. It's alive, like me, but it's dangerous and it's- fuck, it's chosen me to control it. Of all people- me- some stupid brat from Jersey with nothing good and nothing going for him, but my god, every time I control it I feel…"

"It's almost like a high, isn't it? Knowing that you can manipulate something so great. I feel the same way with the water, like with the swimming pool, I can make that thing fucking dance, it's, god, can you imagine what it's like to walk on water?" I stopped, catching my breath. I hadn't realized how much it had gotten to me, but now that I thought about it, my power- god help me, I'm even referring to it in those stupid D&D terms- is fucking awesome.

John looked down at me, something almost like amusement in his eyes. "You can actually pull off that Jesus bullshit?"

"What, you don't believe me?" The tequila has made me bold and the tone of my voice is challenging, leaving little room for argument. John's expression, though, disregarding the inner flames dancing merrily in his eyes, states otherwise.

"Not really, no."

I know he's just fucking with me. It's obvious, blatantly so, but that doesn't stop me from standing, offended, my ego slightly bruised and opening the window. I yank him upwards, out to prove myself. "Come on. I'll fucking show you."

"Suit yourself, sweetheart. It's your funeral." He rolls his eyes, re-corking the liquor and hiding it beside the whiskey. Sooner or later this place is going to be its own little mini-bar, a thought that sits rather well with me. But I'm on a rampage right now, currently plowing my way through the attic until strong hands stop me, tone hushed with an amused sort of irritation.

"Shit, Mills, if you wake the whole fucking place up you're not going to be able to show me shit, are you? Stop fucking around and be quiet, I'll lead." Scowling, I allowed him to take me by the hand, his grip a little more firm than the last occasion and he whipped out his Zippo, the flame twinkling merrily against the black backdrop of the attic walls. I shuddered, irrational, stupid fears from the movie that evening almost causing me to run to the stairs, but regardless of how inebriated I was, I kept my pace, walking closer to John to compensate, drawing security from his presence. If he noticed he didn't say anything, so I kept going on assumption, walking with him down the stairs where he quenched the light. We waited in the darkness a brief moment before I'd determined that I sensed no water presences nearby, save what flowed through the pipes and the miniscule tingles in the back of my mind that sufficed as plants.

We opened the door and emerged into the hall, carefully shutting the door and walking back down the corridor. In doing so, I seemed to recall my purpose, and I released his hand abruptly. I had a point to prove, and getting all touchy and tactile about everything wasn't going to help me in the least. He had nice hands though, Poet's Hands, as Maggie would have called them, all long and dexterous, callused; they'd seen work and hard times, with short, neat fingernails and-

Jesus Christ, was I really going on about this? The tequila must have hit me harder than I'd thought. Skirting around the recreational room, I led John down past the cafeteria and into the cavernous room that housed the pool. Without a word I shucked my shoes and his jacket, striding to the edge of the water, my feet balancing upon the precipice. I turned to look back at him standing there with his arms crossed, a bored, expectant look on his face. He's just goading me. I know it, he knows it, but fuck is it getting under my skin. With a purposeful look and an I-told-you-so smirk, I step off the ledge and onto the water.

I don't bother to look back as I waltz myself along its surface, dancing along to a glorious little 6/8 string quartet only my ears are privy to. Despite his earlier remarks, I know that he must be at least a little awe-struck by this development. I stop dancing suddenly, turning about to meet his gaze, smiling. "Come on, I promise I won't let you drown."

It's one of the Ultimates, the few and far between moments where the limits of trust between two people are tested to the utmost. While I know John would rather die than be deemed a coward, I've a pretty good idea that him and deep water really, _really_ don't mix; it comes with his element, much as I can say with complete honesty that I've a moral fear of burning to death. He regards me quietly from afar, the bravado gone, replaced with something far more cautious and wary. A few minutes later I see him take a step back, and for a moment I think he's leaving me, but then I see him pull off his shoes and socks, placing them neatly beside my own pile and walking towards me. He tries desperately to pull off looking confident, but there's an unease to him and I hesitate at where I stand in the center of the enormous pool, almost wanting to go to him in reassurance. And yet I know it can't be, in order for this to have its full effect things must be as they are and so I wait while he stands at the edge, his face a blank slate, save for those eyes of his, the blue always burning.

Gingerly, tentatively, St. John Allerdyce abandons the sure footing of the tiled floor and steps out onto the water. There's a split second where I see the fires flicker in his eyes, where he's completely certain I'll drop him, and it's with such a conviction that I almost do, out of surprise. Yet my will stays true and he stands there for a moment, adjusting to the feeling of the liquid solid beneath him. After a moment he strides out to me and I keep his gaze, my smirk now bared in its full glory with the knowledge of a job well done. "Well?"

"You'd definitely give that bearded dead guy a run for his money," he admitted with a shrug of his shoulders. There was a silent "I've seen better" attached to it and I rolled my eyes, taking him by the hand.

"Johnny-boy, you haven't seen anything yet," I grinned, knowing that he probably wanted to throttle me for using the derivative of his name. Lifting a hand I watched him follow it with his eyes, which widened marginally as a liquid version of Piotr Rasputin rose out of the water and stood before us. An instant later I had him doing the Russian Sailor's Dance, much to our amusement, and we were in stitches of laughter, he looked so ridiculous. My concentration on my watery replica failed, though, and my faux-friend sank back into the water just has he'd come, tall and silent, stoic even as he phased out of creation.

"Do one of Summers," he said once he'd gotten his breath and I nodded, putting my mind to the task once again for the desired results. Within moments our English professor stood before us, his stance proud, almost regal, before he began a series of very complex, graceful leaps and twirls, a piece I recalled from seeing _The Nutcracker_ one Christmas during a school field trip. We were both howling with laughter by the time the replica went into splits, throwing itself about extravagantly in an endless array of hilarity. I suppose I could have given the thing a tutu, but that seemed a bit too over the top, even for our current amusement. With a final curtsey, the liquid doppelganger dove into the pool and disappeared amidst our applause and calls of "Bravo!" I wasn't quite drunk yet, but the imbibed effects were definitely present and turning, John and I grinned at one another. It was at this unfortunate moment that my control started to flicker.

There was but a yelp before he went under, the secure surface beneath his feet giving way to the monstrous depth of the swimming pool below. And I suppose it only figured, I realized as I watched him sink like a stone towards the bottom, that St. John didn't know how to swim.

Oh holy hell.

"John!" I leapt in after him without a second thought, my mind racing frantically as I kicked my feet, taking me deeper and deeper until I'd finally reached him where he now lay, still and motionless at the bottom of Professor Xavier's great pool. I didn't have time to think, I barely had the time to create a brief passage of air through the chlorinated water to my mouth, enough for a quick breath, before I hefted his unconscious body in my arms and kicked off the bottom. Even then it was slow going, his jeans weighing us down, the heavy fabric completely saturated. I looked past his shirt cuffs, the fabric flowing in the water, to see our progress. It was only a few more feet until we broke the surface and I spurred us onward, my lungs burning, muscles I'd long since used as a result of my chest injury straining until, finally, our heads cleared the water. Gasping, I willed the water into a wave that deposited us onto the tile at the edge of the pool, where it broke, soaking the floor around us as we landed in an ungainly tangle of limbs.

I was on my feet quickly, straightening him out on his back and kneeling beside him, checking his vital signs. "John?" I took his hand, slapping the top of it in an attempt to shock him into awareness. "John, it's Adrian, can you hear me?" Fuck. Oh fuck, oh fuck, _oh fuck-_ he wasn't breathing.

"Think, idiot." My brain railed at me with it's newfound sobriety, panic hazy in my mind. I knew CPR, I'd taken a class when I was a freshman; I still had the certification card in my wallet. After a moments hesitation I pinched his nose shut, lowering my mouth onto his for two short breaths before I began chest compressions. Those lips of his, those full, beautiful testaments to genetics, were red from the force I'd taken them with, glistening from the pool water. This was not the way I'd ever pictured getting to touch them, especially not with my own. I pinched his nose again, breathing air into his lungs, willing with all my might that something would wake him from his state, that the water that filled his lungs might vacate so that I could save him from a fate that was not to be his. And then, suddenly, something miraculous happened.

Just as I pulled away John gave a choked, feeble cough, his eyes snapping open. An instant later, he rolled onto his side, coughing up water in great gouts until I felt all of the offending liquid had left his system. When he'd finished he rolled back over and I caught him gently underneath his head before it smacked down against the floor, hugging him to me despite myself. I'd nearly killed him with my stupidity, and yet all I could do was hold him, telling him over and over again how sorry I was. I'd broken his trust, letting him nearly drown like that, I'd be lucky if he ever spoke to me again at this point. As this dawned on me tears welled in my eyes and I understood that I wasn't ready to lose him yet, that, god help me, I actually liked him.

"Adrian?" The voice croaked out somewhere from my shoulder and I pulled back a bit, looking down at him. His eyes, the embers within them dampened, yet never wholly darkened, looked up at me, hair in wet locks upon my arm, his skin so pale he looked as though Death himself had touched his cheek in passing. Guilty yet entranced, sick with myself but completely struck with his presence, I held him there, transfixed as he in turn held my gaze with those eyes of the most true blue, a hand reaching up to move a damp bit of hair behind my ear. "Adrian, shut up."

And then St. John Allerdyce pulled me down and kissed me. Hard. In the back of my mind, in a place where rational thought still existed, the idea of drowning people more often suddenly had a vast appeal to me. But then reality beckoned, with soft, plush lips and firm, soothing hands and- oh god, that tongue- I responded heartily after recovering from my moment's shock, a hand upon his chest, the other holding myself above him with less than a few inches to spare. He tasted like liquor and chlorine and fire and, shit, it was fantastic.

It was then that I realized that I'd wanted this. I'd wanted this ever since I'd first laid eyes on him the day that I'd arrived, the day that Rogue and I had gone searching for Bobby and all that we'd gotten for our efforts was an awkward, tense standoff and a sample of teenage witticisms. He nipped at my lower lip and I closed the gap between our bodies, ignoring the ache in my chest, those tiny, dull stabbing pains for something else, something that made it all worthwhile, like the feeling of the damp fabric of his shirt bunched in my fist. The air felt warm and humid, and, upon eyeing the room briefly, I noticed steam rising off the nearby pool before he called my attentions back elsewhere. His hand was on my hip, the other tangled in my hair, and I couldn't help but feel as though this were the best thing to have happened since the invention of the wheel. This was perfect, he was perfect, as only saints and flame can be, and-

Someone cleared their throat at the door and a cool breeze cleared the room. My heart leapt into my throat and my cheeks burned crimson as we both stopped, catching our breath and exchanging the briefest of looks before turning to see who had come into the room.

"Children? Is everything… all right?" Professor Charles Xavier stood- well, would have if he weren't wheelchair bound, I'm sure- in the doorway, my mentor and instructor Professor Munroe just behind him, a stern yet somewhat amused expression playing on their faces. Looking down at John, I swallowed, knowing we were caught. He gripped my hand, giving it a brief squeeze before sitting up to address them. That was it, I knew it; I was never going to live this down. I, Adrian Mills, was officially screwed.  
-----

Lyrics belong to The Velvet Underground's 'Heroin'.


	15. John The Revelator

Author's Notes: And the plot thickens! I hope this chapter finds all of you well, and again I apologize for the delay. I've made some adjustments, so hopefully I'll have a bit more time on my hands to write this (I know I said something similar during my last update, but after giving one of two of my jobs the axe, I think it's safe to say that I can actually back this up. I hope.). As always, your reviews mean the world to me, they truly keep me going, prompting me with more initiative than I have time (obviously). But, as I stated previously, I'm hoping that will change. Regardless, you all have my thanks for reading and taking the time to allow me to glimpse your thoughts. I truly hope you enjoy this chapter (are we really at number fifteen? I'm amazed.) and your reviews are beyond appreciated. Seriously.

Disclaimer: Adrian, her family and other Los Angeles counterparts are my own. That said, the others belong to Marvel/FOX, and I'm happy to keep it that way.

"_Your loaded smiles, pretty just desserts,  
Wish it all for you so much it never hurts.  
You have soul machine, stone at me._

_All your mental armor drags me down,  
We can't breathe when you come around.  
All your mental armor drags me down,  
Nothing hurts like your mouth."_  
-Bush, 'Mouth'.

Chapter 15- "John The Revelator"

"You told them you were practicing _CPR!"_ Jubilee shrieked at breakfast the next morning. She was laughing so hard she had to be restrained from falling into her cereal and I tried frantically to hush her before more of the school's populace found out what had happened the night before.

"Holy shit, Adrian, I've gotta hand it to you, chica, that's the best I've heard in a long time. Oh god, can you imagine the looks on their faces?" She started giggling again and I smacked my forehead, noting just how hopeless the situation was. I don't even know how the story had gotten out to her, John hadn't come downstairs yet and the Professor and Storm didn't really look the type to feed into the school's gossip circuit. I almost smacked my head again, realizing I'd called my mentor by her ridiculous X-name.

"Obviously they didn't buy it," Kitty smirked as I nodded. "Still, that was a great improv. job."

"Ah can't believe ya'll finally did it. Bobby and Ah were starting t' think one of ya' was asexual or somethin'," Rogue grinned at her boyfriend, who nodded, happily munching on a piece of toast.

"Wait- what? You can't be serious, I thought you guys-" I paused, looking around the table. Kitty wouldn't meet my eyes. "You sneaky little- you were all waiting for this to happen, weren't you?" I couldn't believe it, this entire time they'd known about it all along, even when I'd been totally oblivious to my own feelings. Piotr nodded, confirming my thoughts.

"I am sorry, Adrian, but it is true. Please forgive us, we meant you no harm. We would like to see you and St. John happy," he smiled softly, and my indignation lessened. They really were some of the best people I'd ever met, and I felt an overwhelming sense of something choke off whatever response I was likely to give. Instead I merely nodded and smiled back, trying to fend off the overpowering emotion.

"So, did you guys get detention?" Jubilee had recovered her senses enough to continue in her pursuit of knowledge and I shook my head.

"No, thank god. Can you imagine explaining that to Summers when he asks us why we're there to clean his room the second time in a month? _'Oh yeah, the Professor totally caught St. John and I making out by the pool, you should've been there!'"_ I mimicked, much to the amusement of those gathered.

"But he's a good kisser, am I right?" the Chinese girl waggled her eyebrows and I almost choked on my juice. "Aha! See, I told you!"

I tried my best to hide myself behind a hand, the 180 of last night still having an unreal quality to it, even despite the experiences I'd had. After all, not every evening begins with wanting to topple cities with a massive tidal wave only to turn into a grand outing and a good time, which results in one getting rather thoroughly snogged by an individual one may or may not have fancied since they'd first arrived at the school. Jesus, I really was in trouble.

"So…" I veered off, trying to change the subject. "Anyone heard from Logan yet? I'd imagine that he'd be back by now."

An uncomfortable silence hit the table, Rogue and Jubilee exchanging a glance. Kitty cleared her throat. "Well, that's just the thing, isn't it? I was walking down the hall earlier this morning and I heard Professor Summers and Professor Xavier talking-"

"You mean you were snooping," Jubilee corrected, smirking.

"And- I most certainly was not snooping! Hush, let me finish. Anyway, they were talking about how Logan should have been back last night… but I mean it is Logan, though, right? He's probably just sleeping off a hangover somewhere."

I met Rogue's gaze from across the table and the worry hidden in those eyes was obvious. What with the Friends of Humanity's presence having been revealed to the world at large there had been a sort of gnawing anxiety spreading in the corners of our minds, lurking in the shadows, just waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. "You don't think-"

"Morning," came a grunt from above us. My eyes snapped up and I saw John take the available seat beside me, a tray of food in hand. With a bored expression he surveyed the table. "What're you geeks freaking out about? Wait, let me guess, the big, bad Logan is M.I.A. and you're all shitting your pants, am I right? Please, he's the Wolverine for fuck's sake; he's probably out disemboweling as we speak."

Bobby, the thought no doubt having gone straight to his head, pushed his food away with a grimace. "Good morning to you too, John. Thanks for that."

His roommate gave him a smug look before eating a spoonful of cereal. "No problem, Icebox. I aim to please."

I bit the inside of my cheek thoughtfully, trying not to be too terribly awkward in the presence of this worrisome piece of information, as well as the fact that St. John was, insofar as I could see, blatantly ignoring me. I contemplated leaving the table, going off to some small, reclusive space where I might be alone to think of the ramifications of this, but the abrupt nature of my departure would be too likely to arise suspicion. If yesterday evening's little P.D.A. spectacle didn't mean anything to him, I refused to be seen as the more emotional side of the story.

"Adrian? Hello? Earth to Adrian Mills?" Bobby waved a hand in front of my eyes and I blinked, snapping backward. Looking down on my plate I realized belatedly that I'd dumped half the salt shaker on my eggs. Cheeks flushing, I gave a somewhat forced chuckle.

"Sorry, spacing out. Forgive me, Professor Summers' test is weighing upon me a bit more than I anticipated, I'll see you guys later." So much for my abrupt departure. I caught Piotr's eye as I stood, making to leave, and saw the concern there. He knew, he always did. I'd probably get a nice sit-down and a chat later, but right now I had too much on my mind, too many unexpected emotions clamoring to get to the surface, and such things are best endured alone. Placing my tray in the according space, I left the dining hall without another word and went outside, blinking in the faint sunshine that greeted me. It wasn't completely over-cast today, sunshine and clouds adorning the endless blue of the sky.

Without much thought, my motions of a purely involuntary nature, I strode over to the gardens, sitting on the edge of one of the fountains, gazing into the rippling, bubbling water it held. In an instant it became smooth and placid, my mind moving to usurp the natural laws of cause and effect and I sat there for a long while, eyes staring down, my mind a clutter of thought and ricocheting notions, not all of them pleasant. Logan was supposedly behind schedule, leaving for a lot of nasty, disagreeable explanations as to what had caused his lack in punctuality and John was, well, John was a grey area. Both of them were in some strange, unknown that made me scowl, for entirely separate reasons, of course.

I don't know what I'd expected from John. After the teachers had found us the situation had become somewhat awkward and we'd walked to our rooms in silence without much more than a fleeting look in farewell. What did I expect from such an unexpected, frenzied act? He was probably just happy to be alive; he would have played tonsil-hockey with Bobby if he had been the one to wake him up, at this rate. Not that the idea wasn't strangely appealing, but I doubted Rogue would approve as wholly as I did, enigmatic as she could be. And yet… god help me, regardless of how much I tried to suppress it, I couldn't help but wish that it had been genuine, that the kiss, regardless of how sudden it had been, how literally out of the blue John's actions had been after he regained consciousness, that they were sincere. Earnest. Honest. Frank. Open. Goodness only knew that I had been, and it was an admission that struck me to the very core.

A fear seemed to lace through me as I realized that this small scrap of knowledge could ruin everything, and I hated myself for it. All of the joking, the fights, the candid attitudes and remarks, the drinking, the fucking _sincerity,_ it could all be shot to hell in one fell moment if something moved out of line, if two plus two failed to equal four, but five. What troubled me the most was that I'd come to rely on all of that just as I had Kitty's giggles or Bobby's smile, and that if I lost it, the stability I had here at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters as I knew it would be shattered.

"Adrian, the water is over-flowing into the lawn, Professor Munroe might not appreciate the ground becoming unsupportive," a voice spoke from behind me.

Sure enough I'd overflowed the goddamn fountain and I relinquished my control of the liquid to the normal components that kept the thing going, mainly the drain. Looking up, I gave my darling David, the demi-god that is Piotr Rasputin, a small smile. "Thanks for the head's up. I'm sure she's irritated with me as is after my little stunt last night."

"Hardly. This is a boarding school, after all. There are always…" he searches for the word, a somewhat wry expression upon his face. "Tensions."

I give him a good-natured smirk. "And I'm sure a handsome fellow like you would know all about those, hm?"

He doesn't blush, but rubs the back of his neck almost sheepishly. "A bit, yes. Catja is, well, I've liked her for quite a long time."

"She seems rather fond of you too. Trust me on that, on the off-hand chance that yesterday evening wasn't proof enough," I stand and we both look out over the grounds together.

"I know she does," he says after a moment and I glance up to see a small smile grace his features. "Indeed, now I know."

"You two are perfect for each other, and I mean that. You'll do well, learn, and help one another to grow as people. I'm happy for you." I smile up at him.

"Likewise."

At this my expression falters and I frown, rooting around in my pockets for a pack of cigarettes. Finding one, I waste no time in lighting it up and taking a pull. "I wish there were more to it, Piotr, but it doesn't appear that there really is anything between St. John and I."

The taller boy gives me a look. "And you've based this upon…?"

I sigh, flicking ash off the glowing tip of my cigarette. "Come on, after this morning? He didn't even try to piss me off, there was nothing there, he just ignored me. And he's said more to me on other nightly departures then he did after we went back to our rooms yesterday evening. I just… I think it's just a one time thing."

Silence greeted me for a few moments as he seemed to consider my words. Then he spoke. "Has it occurred to you that the timing as of thus may have been off?"

"Huh?" I blow out a smoke ring, watching as the breeze erases it from my view. "What do you mean? John _is_ bad timing, they're synonymous. I don't see why the last twenty-four hours should make much of a difference."

Piotr shrugs. "Perhaps he is trying this time."

I give a cynical chuckle. "I'll believe that when I see it, no offense. St. John looks after St. John, and there's no way around it. He… you can tell he hasn't had an easy life, so it makes sense, but it's not something I think I can really put up with in a relationship of any sort. Granted we're still young, very much so, but I need reciprocation, depth and mutuality in order to feel validated within something like this. If last night- god, I love how I'm talking about it like it was some huge event- was just something nice for John to wake up to, then that's all it'll ever be. I'm not going to get screwed up over him." There, I said it, got my two cents in without interruption and to an unbiased party who actually gives a shit. Not that there are many people here who don't, but still, the meaning isn't lost, not in this mutant biosphere. Piotr regards me for a moment before speaking.

"The only way you can be sure of his intentions is to go and speak to him. He may tell you he likes you, and if so then go and be happy with him. There is also the chance that he may spurn your attentions and, as you have said, write it off. Either way you will have an answer and you can move on from there. St. John is many things, Adrian, but he's always honest, especially with himself."

I sigh, nodding. "Don't I know it. The fucker burnt my hair off because he didn't like the way it looked, for chrissakes." I laugh, taking another pull from the filter. "I don't want to stalk him down about it though, I'll bring it up later, or something." Despite my words, though, I was pretty sure just how obvious it was that I did want an answer, and I blew out a long stream of smoke contemplatively. Good god, I fucking hate waiting games.

We stand there a little while longer before Jubilee and Kitty come to collect us, begging for a game of foosball. I know it's the perfect opportunity for Kitty and Piotr to spend some time in close quarters without drawing too much attention, and I agree, putting my cigarette out on the way in. Jubilee and I share a conspiratorial look and in the back of my mind I hope that the stories of Piotr lifting the table up as an advantage aren't true. I hum softly as we walk through the halls to the rec. room, nearly bumping straight into a rather large, ungainly figure as I lose my focus. Looking up I see Freddy, the Blob, and we share an unfriendly glance. I've got something tall, dark and Russian behind me, though, so Freddy makes it quick and waddles off. My expression of distaste, though, lingers.

"That kid really pisses me off," I muttered as we continued onward. Jubilee made a face.

"Yeah, he's kind of a total loser. Don't worry about him though, he's just a douche bag with no brains. The only time you may have a problem with him is if you're standing in front of him in the lunch line in the cafeteria and you're not moving fast enough. He once mistook one of the younger students for a hot dog." I grimaced and we both laughed it off, walking into the rec. room and over to the empty foosball table. We took one side whilst Kitty and Piotr claimed the other, readying ourselves for the battle to come. Kitty was just about to put the ball into the proverbial court when I heard someone call my name and I turned, annoyed at the interruption. Seeing who had gotten my attention, though, I quickly excused myself and left the table, going to the doorway.

"Yes, Professor?"

Charles Xavier, for the second time in less than twelve hours, sat in his wheelchair just outside the doorway. Smiling at me, he spoke. "Good morning, Adrian. I'm sorry to disturb you from your game, but I was wondering if I might have a word?"

You could hardly say no to a man like Professor Xavier. I inclined my head respectfully. "Of course, sir."

"Excellent. Perhaps you might accompany me on a brief walk. I won't take up too much of your time, I merely had a few questions I wished to ask you."

I nodded and walked beside the motorized wheelchair in silence, turning round a corner and going down another hallway. Once the trickle of students in the corridors had lessened considerably the Professor spoke.

"So, Adrian, I trust you're feeling well?"

Small talk, I can do this. "Yes, sir, thank you. And yourself?"

He smiled up at me kindly. "I am well, thank you, though my mind is somewhat troubled." He stopped at a dead end, the bay window jutting from the wall and out into the sunshine and warm spring breeze. "Logan spoke with you before he left, yes?"

I frowned, nodding as he gazed outside. "Yes, he did. Why?"

Looking out the window, Charles Xavier now did indeed look a bit troubled. "Would you mind if I asked you what the two of you discussed?"

Something's wrong, I can feel it. He's grasping at straws, looking in all the hard places for something placed in obvious view, searching for his glasses in vain when they're right on his nose. I chew my lip. "He came in to see how I was doing after my brief stint in the infirmary. He, well," I pause, not really wanting to go into detail about the nightmare, knowing with a damning sort of sensation that the Professor is probably more than well aware of it at this point. "I had a bit of a spaz and then we exchanged pleasantries. I told him to stay safe and come home soon."

"He didn't say where he was going?" Xavier's eyes tracked a group of students playing flag football outside and I shook my head.

"No, he just told me that he'd be leaving because you were, as he put it, sending him on an assignment." I stopped. "Professor Xavier, is Logan all right?"

The older man smiled up at me comfortingly. "Of course he is. He's just a bit behind schedule with a rendezvous I'd arranged for him, though I'm sure he has his reasons. I thought perhaps he might have mentioned something to you. I'm sorry if I've caused you to worry, Adrian, I just thought I'd speak with you for a moment just in case, as you were the last person he conversed with before his departure."

Silent, I inclined my head again, a strange mixture of feelings and possibilities, of scenarios and lingering whispers coming to the forefront of my mind. Was Logan really all right? And if so, why was he late, his work sounded important. The implication of my having been the last person in contact with him made me feel elated, privileged, but it also cut me down at the knees when I was able to do naught for it all regardless, other than remain blissfully ignorant of the details. I can never win. Seeing that our little chat was over, I excused myself and returned to the outdoors, scowling despite the pleasant weather. Pulling another cigarette from my pack, I held it between my lips and stood buy the side of the mansion in the shade, thinking. I went to place my rather crumpled pack back into my pocket when it was conveniently plucked from my grasp. I sighed.

"John, stop fucking around, I'm not in the mood."

A small, cupped flame was my response and, in my irritation I accidentally lit my cigarette backwards, which inspired a whole fantastic and memorable slew of curses fit to scar some of the younger students playing a few feet away for the rest of their adolescence as I stomped the thing out under my heel. Calmly, evenly, I was presented with another cigarette, this one with its tip already burning, and my pack was handed back to me. Only then did I risk glancing upward, looking up into those other flames housed within spheres of deep blue. Flames burning beneath the sea.

"What's got your panties in a twist?" Always tactful, John stands before me, full lips in a half smirk, almost subdued, nothing but burning embers and baking coals, biding his time, though for what I wasn't certain. I gave a half-hearted shrug, taking a drag.

"I'm worried about Logan. I had a chat with the Professor and he sort of let on that something went awry with his mission and that he doesn't know where he is."

John looked at me like I'd just slapped his grandmother. "You're worried about the Wolverine? Are you serious? I thought we covered this shit at breakfast."

"Well I… maybe I am," I grumbled, trying not to let his look get to me. Christ almighty, he acted like I was suggesting we throw the nearby students into lion pens (on second thought, scratch that, he'd probably think that was entertainment). Expecting a scathing reply I was surprised when I got laughter as my response.

"God Adrian, you're such a fucking girl sometimes. I almost forget that about you, the way you carry on, gnashing your teeth. 'Almost' being the operative word." He stopped, a familiar, albeit somewhat unsettling, look upon his face. The Intense Stare of St. John Allerdyce. I recalled it from the first time we'd gone up to the roof drinking together and backed into the wall despite myself, blowing a smoke ring in his face.

Bonfires under the ocean. Suddenly there he was, taking up my air space, my air, crushing our mouths together. My cigarette fell from my fingertips, forgotten in an instant as I reached out to him, wrapping my arms around his midsection, pulling him closer. There was something almost needy in this kiss, something desperate, and I wanted to take and take and take and take until there was nothing left of him. A hand on my hip, the other beside my face, pinning me to the brick siding of the mansion, the soft caress of his thumb on the little sliver of skin that had appeared as a result of my shirt riding up, caught on the rough wall behind us, teeth and tongue, those perfect lips, and when I heard him sigh I knew it was absolute.

Like two pieces of a child's puzzle set we molded into one another, thighs between thighs, hands grabbing, holding, feeling, squeezing. I felt my breath hitch in my throat as he dragged a hand across my belly and I heard him moan softly as I raked my short nails down his back in retort. We pulled apart for a moment, catching our breath, noting the flushed faces and the dilated pupils with smirks of triumph. Somewhere behind him I heard a giggle and in a flash he whirled about, now standing beside me as we faced the small audience we'd acquired as a result of our somewhat public display.

Part of me was irritated; knowing that news of our liaison would be around the school in seconds, but the other part latched onto a small, whispering voice of opportunity before John even had a chance to whip out his lighter. Testing that weight in the back of my mind, I spoke. "Enjoy the show?"

Less than a second later all the sprinklers in the yard turned on, sending everyone inside screaming and soaking as the jets of cold water shot out at them from all sides. Thoroughly amused with myself, though my own dry state of being was sacrificed, I cackled wildly. John, however, appeared less than pleased.

"Goddamnit. Adrian, was that really necessary?" There was a glimmer of mischief in those eyes, though, and I'd have been a fool not to see it.

"Shut up John, you know you liked it." Willing myself once again, the sprinklers turned off. "Now hold still and I'll dry you, unless…" I stopped, taking another look at him. It was right about then that I decided it was completely illegal for someone to look that fucking good. Water droplets clung to his lashes in the most unearthly way while his clothes hugged close, forcing me to keep my eyes chest level lest I have an aneurism. But even then, Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I have to fight the urge to drool. When our eyes met again I swallowed, knowing the mirrored expressions for what they were as a blatant and honest form of eloquence through clear sincerity. My cheeks burned again and I closed my eyes, concentrating on drying our clothing and not on the fact that I'd never seen a seventeen year old boy leer so obviously. And seductively. And-

My eyes snapped open, heart pounding as the small terror that I might have gone to far came back to mind and I recalled the forest. But John stood where he had been before beside me, perfectly dry and unharmed and I gave a small sigh in relief. Ever-present was the fear of losing control and I did well to adhere to my limitations with this secondary aspect of my mutation. Professor Munroe and I had tested it to some small extent on a common garden weed, watching as it shriveled up and died instantaneously and, for that last lesson, that had been it. It had taken more of my strength not to kill everything else in the garden than it did making tidal waves in the pool. A completely different sort of control, with more stress to boot.

"I-" I stop then forge ahead before I can stop the words sputtering out of my mouth, lips red and puffy from kissing. "I'm sorry about yesterday. Er, last night I mean. The part where I almost drowned you. I shouldn't have pushed myself so hard so early on in the game."

John stood there, a measured look etched upon his features. After a brief silence he spoke. "You got any other feet you wanna put in your mouth?"

Confused, I swore. "What the hell are you talking about?"

He took a step closer to me, fingering the bangs he'd so thoughtfully burned for me, the heathen Saint sculpting me in his image. "I'm fine now, aren't I? So stop apologizing. It happened a while ago."

"'A while ago'? Are you mentally challenged? It was barely a day ago and I'm not used to putting people I care about at risk."

"With people like us, it happens. Not much you can do about it, sweetheart." John must have won a gold star for diplomacy as a child, kicking up offensive and sensitive subject matters like a bull-elephant on a rampage through the glass wear department at Macys. Despite it all I don't get uppity when he adds the endearment.

"Maggie," I murmured, suddenly feeling so much older than I actually was, even with the elation brought by the events that took place a few minutes ago.

"Hm? Oh yeah, your friend. The one you paper-milled through the forest for." I'm sorely tempted to cause him bodily harm for being so light about it but I catch myself, noting the clear skies, the sunshine, and the warm breeze. It's too fair a day to be so ill-tempered, I realize, and my spirits lighten, despite the dark subject matter.

"Indeed, my flaming friend. Why make a scene if you're not going to go all out with it?" I grinned, concentrating for another moment until I too was dry again. "Everyone has to have an _'it's my party and I'll cry if I want to'_ moment sometime, I can only imagine when yours will be."

"The day my fucking Zippo runs out of fluid, which will be tomorrow if I don't run to the store." Suddenly he was in motion, striding off confidently towards the edge of the grounds without another word of explanation. Taken aback at the sudden change of events- part of me was still stuck in the _"Weren't we just making out?" _phase- I called after him.

"What are you doing? Don't you have to ask for permission before you go off gallivanting across half of Westchester?"

He barely turned his head to respond. "Do you always follow the rules, Mills?"

So less than five minutes after having his tongue down my throat and we were back to last names and thinly veiled challenges. Charming. Running to catch up with him, I gave him a cool look. "No, Allerdyce, I do not."

He kept his eyes focused on the trees bordering the back of the school. "Never said anything about you coming with me."

I let out a snort. "Well then, I guess it's a fucking pity that I'm almost out of cigarettes, isn't it?" It was more of a statement than a question at this point, the tone inviting little room for argument. Let him try and stop me. If John really wanted to pull this wannabe loner bullshit he could do it on someone else's time; and if he'd cared about it that much to begin with he wouldn't have bothered bringing it up. I shook my head, trying to reason with myself exactly why I was attracted to a boy who had more hidden meanings and ulterior motives than most teenage girls did. It was, needless to say, baffling.

We cleared the school grounds in less than two minutes, neither telepathic messages nor lightening bolts impeding us as we made our way down the road towards our destination. It occurred to me that perhaps the staff was a little more lax on the weekends with trips to the convenience store and the nearby eateries, but I've always found that it's better to be safe than sorry. Oak trees line the street and we skirt along the edge of the muddy ditch along the side of the road, walking on sunshine filtered through a lofty green. Dandelions cluster about aimlessly like gossipy old women at a quilting bee and I find myself oddly contented with this arraignment, the two of us walking along in silence on what is assuredly a most lovely spring day. It's pleasant, the quiet companionship, and it keeps until John's footing slips and he finds himself nearly ankle deep in mud just a hundred feet away from the entrance to the little quickie mart. Wrenching his foot out, the shoe still stuck in the depths of New York's cheeky little version of quicksand, John swore vehemently in a manner that was neither saintly nor pure as his name might have led some to believe.

"Mother fucking sonofabitch!" He teetered for a bit on one leg until I grabbed his arm, lending him my support. "Fucking asshole stole my shoe!"

Any random passer-by might have thought that someone had literally ambushed John and run off with his right trainer, but his eyes were narrowed at the earth below, angry at his somewhat disempowered state. While he was quite intent upon retrieving said shoe, he was not by any means excited about getting himself dirty or in any way damp again, something I found to be quite funny as I chuckled to myself at his predicament, an exceedingly mature move on my part, I know. His glare now focused upon me, those lips turned downward in what I can only describe as a sensuous pout. Needless to say, I gave in.

"For fuck's sake," reaching down with one hand, while I maintained my grip on the boy beside me, I managed to shuck his shoe free from the mud with no small effort, holding up the dirtied tennis shoe for his inspection. "Look, if you just wear it until we get our shit taken care of I'll pull a _wash-n-dry_ the moment we're out of sight, all right?"

He made a face. "Why the hell can't you do it now? I can see something crawling in it."

I rolled my eyes. "That might have been an option if you hadn't made such a fuss about it. The elderly couple who walked in looked as though you'd done a couple of _'Heil Hitler's'_ in front of them when you started going off." I looked at him with an expression of mock concern. "Are you going to be all right? Should I call an ambulance so that we can sort out the beetle in your sneaker?"

Wrenching himself from my grip, John scowled as he put his dirtied shoe back on and, without another word, stalked through the small parking lot and into the little mini-mart. I suppose he might have appeared to be a lot more menacing on any other occasion, but the vulgar squelching noise that his shoe emitted each time he stepped down on it was so hysterical I had no choice but to laugh at him again, earning a crude gesture for whatever it was worth.

John has wiped his shoe off as best as he could on the mat outside the front door and stuck to standing on the bits of dirtied carpet that lay about the cashier's desk in what I can only describe as some sort of latent politeness. It almost unnerved me to an extent before I realized that it was probably just his way of not drawing too much attention to himself. Muddy footprints meant A Talking To from the cashier and something like that could easily escalate into a nasty exchange of words noting the pleasant and charismatic person St. John Allerdyce was renown for being. Silently perusing the handful of small aisles for anything I might find necessary, I kept my distance while he paid for his fuel. Allowing the elderly couple in the shop to approach before me, I stood in line for a few moments, noting John by the door frame from the corner of my eye.

The older folk before me looked positively ancient and the cashier regarded them with a respect that confirmed my suspicions. Small talk came into play and, with a decidedly youthful impatience; I began to wish I hadn't been so polite to them. That is, of course, until the topic of the newspaper came into being, the front page, to be exact. Looking over to near where John stood at the door I could make out the headline of the _New York Times,_ the words "Mutant Agenda" catching my attention faster than anything flashing and neon. My gaze drifted up to John, who looked impassive, though the slight clench of his jaw gave away the effect the nature of article had upon him.

"Going to over-run the entire earth if they have their way, I'm sure we all remember Ellis Island a few years back," the man at the register nodded sagely, taking the paper and the carton of milk the couple had purchased, ringing them up.

"Oh, well, I don't know about that, Rick," the woman chimed in. She sounded like a sweet old lady and looked the part in her sundress and shawl. "They're people just like the rest of us; they deserve to make their way in the world."

"With all due respect, ma'am, if that includes trying to wipe out all the world leaders like a bunch of terrorists, then I'm firmly against it. They should have quarantine up at the very least until the bad ones can be sorted out."

I swallowed audibly, trying to keep my temper down as my gaze flickered from the cooler filled with water bottles nearby- which I so longed to release upon the store clerk- to John, whose previously nonchalant gaze had turned stormy as he fingered his Zippo with an obvious intent. In the back of my mind, I began to wonder if a pack of Camels was worth what was sure to come if this jackass kept running his mouth. Images of flames and burning timbers danced through my mind and I shivered slightly despite the warmth of the day, trying my best not to scowl.

The old man shook his head. "I wouldn't support it, Ricky Allen, I wouldn't support it even if the President himself made it law." And then he did something that almost made me whoop for joy, he shuffled up to the counter and pointed a gnarled, boney hand right in the man's face and shook a crooked finger at him. "I fought in World War II, Ricky, and it was talk like that that started the whole awful thing. Young people like you don't realize it nowadays; you're too wrapped up in the present, the future, and you forget the sins and tragedies of the past. With an attitude like that you'll never learn from it, from the horrors we witnessed. You weren't there when we freed Auschwitz, Allen, you didn't see those people there, what happened to them just because they were 'different'. Human beings murdered, countless thousands of them gassed and burned alive, you never saw the emaciated bodies of their children-"

At this point the cashier backed down, nodding to placate the man as he bagged their groceries in brown paper. "You're right, Mr. Johnson. I'm sorry, I shouldn't speak like that; my father raised me better."

"You're damn right he did, son, and you'd do well to remember it. Have a good day, Ricky." He paid the cashier, who at least had the decency to feign shame for the gentleman, and took his bags, offering his wife his other arm. I admired their companionship, something that radiated from the two of them like a comforting sort of warmth and we smiled at each other as they passed by. John even stood aside for them, giving them a respectful nod I knew in my very marrow to be a rare display of esteem. I approached the counter and asked the man for my cigarettes. He seemed so out of sorts after the exchange that he didn't even ask me for my I.D.

"Old folks sure get opinionated these days, I suppose they've got nothing better to do in between bridge games," he shook his head as I gave him the amount due.

I took my change back and waited for him to retrieve my pack from behind the counter. "He was in the second World War?"

"Yeah, he's got his name on the memorial in the town center and everything if you're really that interested," he was polite, but seemed irritated with having been told off earlier. Not particularly fond of his attitude, nor his views, I decided to grind salt into an open wound, but John beat me to it.

"You should listen to him, you know. He knows what he's talking about. It's a slippery slope, talking about imprisoning people like that," he looked borderline hostile and I knew we had to get out of there quick. He wasn't stupid enough to do anything violent, or so I hoped and prayed, but I rather valued having a corner store in such close range from the school and I wasn't looking forward to being barred from the establishment.

"The wisdom of age, it really is a fascinating thing. And to think that there are so few veterans of his era left today, it really is a shame," I forced a smile, taking the cigarettes from the man's hand before taking John's arm and steering him out the door. "Good afternoon, sir!"

As we walked down the length of the gravel parking lot John's expression darkened. "Fucking ignorant human bastard. I should have toasted his ass, given him something to really remember mutants by. He doesn't know shit."

I shot him a look, pulling out a cigarette as we walked along the road, avoiding the ditch this time. In the back of my mind I recalled my promise about cleaning his shoe and shrugged it off. "Oh, yeah, because hurting him would totally make him empathize with our side of the argument. Way to go, jackass."

"Who said anything about getting him to see our side of the story? If I had it my way he'd just be one less person to worry about."

In the middle of attempting to light my cigarette, I froze. "Excuse me?"

He looked at me and rolled his eyes. "Oh come on, Adrian, he's just a human, a _homo sapien,_ it's not like there aren't more of him."

"Do you have any idea what you're saying? You're just as bad as he is!" I glowered at him. "And you'd take care to recall who you're speaking to, Allerdyce; my family and my best friend are humans."

"Oh please, Mills, spare me the dramatics. There's a fucking war going on out there, and we're the ones getting screwed over. Do you really think the Friends of Humanity give a shit about us? That guy back there is an example of every human being who supports their ideals. If he'd had the day off he'd have probably been out in the city the other day waving a goddamn sign and picketing."

"And it's our responsibility to rise above their level. Damnit, John, what can we even possibly hope to accomplish by fighting these people, by killing them?"

He was on the verge of letting some sarcastic comment fly by, but I stopped him, a hand on his chest, an unlit cigarette dangling from the other. "Look John, my family, all of my father's family, comes from Ireland. Northern Ireland. When I was a little girl my Grandmother told me about the Blacks and Tans, the _na Dúchrónaigh,_ she called them, and how they shot her father dead in the street for fighting for what he believed in. He wanted freedom for Ireland so fucking badly he died for it and left his family beside themselves with poverty. And do you know what his brothers did? After drinking themselves silly for a few nights, they got in with their I.R.A. buddies and they ambushed a troop of the Royal Irish Constabulary and killed six of their men, losing two of their own in the process. And so the fight continues, and still continues to this day. It never stops. An eye for an eye, blood for blood, it's still going on and yet there is no freedom for Ireland, nothing to show for it but fresh graves and mourning widows. People are people, John, be they mutant or otherwise, and to kill in the name of whatever cause is a wrong that can never be justified."

The look on his face is enough to inspire spontaneous human combustion. His eyes have a sort of concentrated distaste to them the likes of which I haven't been on the receiving end for at least forty-eight hours. They still pack quite a punch, I'm vaguely surprised to note that I'd almost forgotten. But above all of the petty anger, the fury at having been out-done, at having been proven wrong, is the awareness that I don't know, that I fail to grasp his past experiences, whatever nameless deeds they include. And there, deep under the waves of blue in those irises, is the understanding that while I don't grasp it now, I will in time.

"Adrian," his tone changes, it becomes more calm, less heated and irate. He steps toward me, placing a hand on each hip and running them gently along the length of my sides. I suppress a gasp as he continues softly. "Do you remember what happened before you came here?"

There's a sharp pain in my ribs as he squeezes gently, though it's more than enough to get the point across. Betrayal surges through me, fury at the notion that he would dare seek to use this against me. I shove him off. "You bastard."

That damnable smirk slides into place, cold and utterly matter-of-fact. I want to slap him. "They gave you a taste of what's to come, Adrian. Humans hate and fear us, and regardless of whatever bullshit the Professor spouts at us day in and day out, they'll always be after us. Don't ever forget that."

He turns from me, walking back up the lawn and toward the mansion. Pausing a moment, he calls to me over his shoulder. "You'll thank me for that later, sweetheart. Trust me."

My restraint falters. "You fucking _bastard!"_ It takes everything, and I do mean _everything,_ I have to keep myself from physically lashing out at him with my power. The sensation is so acute that I can even feel the remnants of the morning dew on the grass, all the water droplets itching at my mind, tempting me to gather them all and hurl them at the back of his unwitting, retreating form. I manage to hold off until he clears the front door before I release my control, swearing profusely as the ball of water propels itself harmlessly into the drive way.

Cursing again as I drop the remains of my crushed and unsalvageable cigarette, I remove another from the pack and light it, drawing deep from it's filter as I make my way to a small, manmade pond nearby, staring into it moodily. John and I have fought before, we've been at odds with each other since my very first hour here at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, but never like this. This was ugly, we hit all the rough nerve endings and we fucking stomped on them, grinding them into the glass and gravel beneath our heels without care. He'd been so cruel, so fucking calculating, and I was beyond livid with the knowledge that he'd known exactly what buttons to push. I wanted to hit something, to break everything in front of me into a thousand tiny pieces and then drown it in the Marinas Trench, which in my incensed state sounded utterly magnificent. God help me, the next time I saw St. John Allerdyce not even Piotr would be able to stop me from pummeling him into the fucking bedrock.

"What'cha up to, chica?" Sweet suffering fuck, do people make it their business here to seek me out constantly throughout the day?

"Fuming, Jubes. What's up?" She doesn't take offense to the fact that I haven't turned to greet or regard her yet, nor is she upset that I'm being so short with her. Worrying my lip with my teeth, I feel a pang of guilt; Jubilee isn't the reason I'm troubled right now, she doesn't deserve this.

"Well," she draws the word out, a knowing tone coloring it and permeating the conversation. "I just ran into an extremely irritable pyromaniac and I was wondering if you'd had anything to do with it. Now that I've talked to you, I can see that you had everything to do with it."

Ripples form on the calm, glassy surface of the pool as a water bug skirts across it. I still the movement. "Really?"

"God, you guys are so… passionate with one another. Wasn't he ravishing you against the wall of the school like, an hour ago?"

I look over at her, a mild expression of scandal upon my features. "'Ravishing' me? You make it sound like a scene from a Harlequin Romance novel, Jubes. Try to give me some credit."

The Asian girl grins, waggling her eyebrows suggestively. "I don't know, Adrian; Ronaldo and his beautiful white stallion on the beach are pretty tempting."

I chuckle, the other girl managing to bring out a more pleasant aspect of my current state. Finally, I add, "We were just kissing. Half the school saw it, though, so I set the sprinklers off on them."

Jubilee cackled so hard she accidentally set sparks off, a miniature fireworks show going off before my eyes. "Are you serious? Oh my god, Adrian, that is classic. Absolutely fucking classic. Oh god, why wasn't I there?"

"Too busy reading about Ronaldo and his stallion, I suppose," I grinned, allowing myself to be taken out of my status, my rage abating.

"So, what'd John say to piss you off so badly? You were smoking like my grandma during a mahjong game."

I grimaced, eyes flickering down to the cigarette in my hand. I'd smoked the thing all the way down to the butt, the blackened filter all that remained of my previous tobacco product. Putting the butt back in the pack until I could dispose of it later, I sighed. "He was talking shit about some things he really, really shouldn't have been. And I was kindly reminded once again why I loathe politics."

"Oooh. We were wondering when you'd get exposed to John's views on the average human being. To tell you the truth, I'm surprised he hadn't brought it up earlier, it's something he can get pretty into if you get him riled."

"Yeah, well the store clerk down at the mini-mart did all of that for me," I grumbled, running a hand through my hair. "Jesus, Jubilee, he wanted to kill the man; where does hate like that come from?"

I watched as my friend's expression dampened. "I don't really know a lot about it, but, well, lets just say that John's time before coming to the institute wasn't really the greatest."

"That's pretty fucking obvious," I frowned. Perhaps becoming so angry with John was out of order, after all, he was only acting out the atrocities he'd learned as a child. And yet, my mind argued, he had the opportunity to learn and become something other than the raging hatred within him. I sighed, ideals and absolutes clouding my judgment. It took a lot to alter the views of another person, especially those wrought by a tragic past. While I remained ignorant of the very things that had created the shadow within the holiness of St. John, I understood that these were things that could not be easily abolished. That still did not excuse his cruelness toward me earlier on the lawn, though. My ribs agreed.

"I'm not saying that whatever he did is justified, but he's got his reasons, whatever they are. He's usually pretty vague about his past, Bobby's the only one he's ever really talked to about it, and Piotr might know some things. But yeah, welcome to Mutant High, most of us are pretty fucked up here."

With a majority of the students either orphans or runaways I suddenly felt a pang of guilt, knowing Jubilee to be among the former. "Everyone has their issues, and if they're under the age of twenty five then they're bound to have them in spades. I wish John wasn't such a fucking asshole about his, but whatever. I'll deal with it." Resilience is the key to success.

Jubilee grinned. "That's the spirit! Hey, it's almost lunch time, you wanna go in and grab something to eat? I'm starving."

I nodded in acquiescence, privately relieved at the change of subject as we began to stride up the lawn to the mansions' rather impressive front door. "Sounds fantastic, while we're there I can ask Piotr for his notes for class so that I can copy them down later in the afternoon. You don't think he'll- what the fuck!"

I stopped abruptly, hands on either side of my head as I heard a voice speaking within, addressing me. _"Adrian, if you'd be so kind there's a call waiting for you in my office that requires your immediate attention."_

The Professor. Sweet Jesus, I'd never get used to it. Jubilee surmised as much, giggling. "I'll leave you to deal with your mental summons, I'll see you at lunch though, all right? Later chica!"

Jubilee departed and I made my way to Professor Xavier's office, wondering who on earth could be calling me here in New York. Maggie was the only person who knew of my staying here and it was with that acknowledgement that a jolt of fear laced through me. I'd given her the number in case of an emergency, was she in trouble? Despite the ache in my ribs I ran the rest of the way to the office and, without much introduction, threw the door open, racing to the large, hard wood desk. The Professor met my eyes briefly before handing me the telephone, his expression blank save for the knowing look in his eyes. Politely, he wheeled himself out from behind his desk and left the room, silent all the while. Once the door had shut I lifted the receiver to my ear.

"Maggie, is that you? Is everything all right?" Panic threatened to overwhelm me. If anything had happened to her I wouldn't be able to get back to her, she'd be hurt just like the last time and there would be nothing I could do to stop it.

_"Maggie?_ Are ye' daft, child? It's yer father, for the luv o' Christ," the voice at the other end of the phone spat out at me, it's somewhat subdued Irish accent flaring out at me in a lilting brogue.

"D-dad? How did you get this number? I don't understand." My heart thumped wildly about in my chest. Holy mother of fuck, my parents had found me, and now they were going to turn me over to the authorities to face the crimes I'd committed back in Los Angeles, the very things that had spurned me into action, forcing me to flee the place I'd lived for all my life. When I'd left they'd had the L.A.P.D. hunting me down, and as a minor I had no choice but to follow their wishes for my "wellbeing"… oh Jesus, I'd finally reached the end of my rope.

"Yer friend, Maggie gave it t' us, Adrian, and rightly so. It's about time we 'ad ourselves a talk."

I swallowed, my previous misgivings about John now the least of my worries as I tried to block out the sound of my own heart hammering away in my ears. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to be calm. "All right Dad… lets talk."  
-----

Thoughts and constructive criticism are always appriciated. Thank you for reading.


	16. Time For Heroes

Author's Notes: Holy mother of god. Please allow me to begin by apologizing, from the bottom of my wretched and unworthy heart, for having taken so dreadfully long with this update. Between midterms, family stuff, computer issues, school, work and everything in between it's been hell trying to get any time to work on this story. I'd never in my most paranoid moments thought I'd go a month without updating 'Some Weird Sin' because goodness knows I love writing it, but unfortunately circumstances prevented me from doing so. I'm horribly sorry for the wait, and I thank all of you for your patience, you've been completely amazing and I can't thank you enough for it. Between your fantastic reviews and your tolerance of my increasingly lame updating gaps I don't even know how to begin showing you guys how truly grateful I am. This said, I suppose the only thing I really could do was write a longer chapter (only eighteen pages, sadly, but I hope it's worth it regardless), so I hope it soothes the bite a bit. Again, thanks to all of you who read and review, you guys seriously mean the world to me and I can't thank you enough for your patience and your kindness. You guys truly make writing this a pleasure.

Disclaimer: All characters owned by Marvel/FOX remain thus. Ya rly.

"_I got a reason to turn my head and look the other way,  
Its heaven and hell here, which one will I live today?_

_Are you happy now with all the choices you've made?  
Are there times in life when you know you should've stayed?  
Did you compromise and then realize the price was too much to pay?  
Winners and losers, which one will you be today?"_  
-Social Distortion, 'Winners and Losers'

Chapter 16- "Time For Heroes"

Hello World. My name is Adrian Mills and I'm a teenage mutant runaway. I could have attached a "turtle" to that somewhere along the line, but fuck me if that isn't just too corny. On the off-hand chance that you were in any way tuned into my life and vacated your viewing apparatus for a few moments, allow me to fill you in on whatever you may have missed, namely my estranged family calling me from the sunnier part of the Pacific coast of the United States. My father, to be precise. Also known as the quasi-intolerant first generation Irish American I fled from after my brilliant little episode back at my old high school in L.A. The one with the swim team. And no, it wasn't a porno.

We didn't get much of a chance to talk it out then, the occasion really didn't have that sort of quality family time feel to it, I was too busy fearing for my life and trying to grasp some sort of half-assed understanding of my startling new capabilities. In short I was scared shitless, so I jumped to a few conclusions, packed a bag and skedaddled as fast as my legs could carry me. Two weeks later, and on the run from the Los Angeles Police Department, I hitched a ride across country with a Canadian citizen of questionable repute to Westchester, New York where I currently attend a school for the genetically evolved. It's been nearly a month since I've had any contact with the man whose gene sample actually caused my mutation, and I have to keep refreshing myself with all of this because right now I'm so unnerved that I can barely hold the receiver to my ear without dropping it. I almost wish Bobby were here to hold my hand like the last time I spoke to anyone over the telephone, because I could really use a Hark!-The-Herald-Angels-Sing! smile right about now. But there's no such luck to be had by those damned by consequence, and thus do I stew in my own juices. It's high time I lay in the grave I dug; I suppose this is fate's idea of a pleasant reminder. Color me unamused.

There's been a pause that's stretched a good twenty seconds on the line, and I'm praying that the call has disconnected, that it's dead and I won't ever have to deal with it again. This situation is too awkward, too raw, and let's just face it, I'm a big fucking coward and really I don't want to get the proverbial belting from my father. Maybe if I just click my heels and wish as hard as I can things will be better and I won't be having this nonexistent conversation.

Fat chance. Fate just delivered the first bitch-slap of what I can only assume is of many to come. "Aren't you gonna say somethin' for yerself, child?" The man sounds strained and irritated, I wince, mentally cursing myself.

"What do you want me to tell you, Dad? That I'm sorry? Apologies won't even begin to repair whatever damage I may have done, I'm not going to be facetious about it." I sigh, suddenly feeling far more weary than anyone at a mere seventeen years of age rightly should.

"And yer damn right about that, lass! D'ye have any fokin' idea how worried yer mother and I were? We'd nearly given up on ye for dead, and we would 'ave, were it not for that daft friend of yers! If her mother hadn't found out she was talkin' to ye and made 'er confess it, I don't know what we'd 'ave bloody done."

So that's how it happened, Mrs. Moore dropped some eaves and took matters into her own hands. The knowledge of this infuriated me somewhat, but I'd rest far easier knowing that it hadn't been my friend who had sold me out. That was, of course, assuming my own father didn't murder me via telephone. In the back of my mind I realized that there was probably an email sitting in my inbox from Maggie with some sort of warning about this, and I kicked myself for not having checked it in the last few days. "I didn't think you guys would want me any more, after what I'd done. I… I know your views on mutants aren't completely favorable and when the principal called you, you nearly went ballistic. I figured that I'd be doing you both a favor by leaving."

The line went silent again and I heard my father take a deep breath. It startled me to hear that he sounded almost as tired as I was. "Adrian, lass, we'd never throw ye out. Not for somethin' like that. Ye can't help what ye are, n' like it or not, I've got myself t' thank for that. We're just worried about ye, yer mother 'n I, we've been worried sick since the day ye left. We don' even know where the fok ye' are."

I swallowed, guilt overpowering me. "I- I'm in Westchester, Dad. In New York. There's a school here for people like me, a really good one, with a top-notch curriculum. They've been helping me learn to control my gifts." I chuckled. "I don't blow holes through gymnasiums anymore unless it's by my own volition."

"An' what about the money, lass? Where's all that comin' from t' pay for yer education?" He was taking this all remarkably well, so much so that his subdued tone nearly made me light-headed. I shook myself into action, rubbing at the sudden irritation that afflicted my eyes.

"I'm on scholarship, it's all free, including room and board. I," I paused, trying to word myself properly, knowing that this next part could ruin everything. "I want to stay here, Dad. The people here, they treat me well, they don't act like I'm a freak or vandalize my property; they're just like I am. I have friends here, really good ones. I feel like… I feel like I'm home."

Those damning words must have hit their mark because I hear him sigh again and I flinch inwardly, knowing I've hurt him. Quickly I tell him that I'm sorry, but he brushes it off with the grace and experience of an entire hereditary line's learned disappointment. So is the way of the modern Irish. "Enough, child, ye' needn't be apologizin' for that. The last week or so ye' were livin' here wasn't exactly kind t' ye, I know. And yer mother an' I 'ave been givin' this a lot o' thought, a lot o' thought indeed."

"So, what are we going to do?" This is one of those crucial points in one's adolescence that you read about in books, that you cringe at during a movie and I'm literally on the edge of my seat with nerves, trying to predict just where this is going to go and how bad the fallout will be when we land. There's an insistent voice chanting at the back of my head, telling me that they're going to force me to come back, that they'll lock me up for the rest of my life or send me off to a fate worse than death in a laboratory. But there's another softer utterance, something far more calm and composed, that tells me not to give up, that the die's not yet been cast, that, impossible as it may seem, there is still hope. I'm not nearly as startled as I should be when I realize that it's Logan's and silently, I give thanks to my Knight in Denim Armor. Chops bless, amen.

"We want t' come out an' see ye, lass, just like any normal parent would." I nearly choke on my own tongue as he continues. "I talked to yer headmaster earlier an' he told me about yer school, what yer learnin' an' all the good it'll do ye. All the good it has done ye. He doesn't seem too bloody terrible o'er the phone, for an Englishman 'n all that."

I blink several times in rapid succession, pinching myself to be sure that I'm still lucid. "You… I can stay? You're not going to turn me in?"

"Of course ye can! What in the bloody fokin' 'ell do ye take me for, eh lass? Do I look like goddamn R.I.C. material to ye? For the love o' Jaysus, me own fokin' daughter with talk like that, 's bloody disgraceful. 'S enough t' drive a man t' drink!" And suddenly everything is as it was, the same reprimands, the curses, the irritable disbelief, I nearly wept for thanks of it. I'd never been so happy to be wrong in all my life, delighting in my own idiocy and foolishness. My utopic livelihood was preserved with the sanction of those more qualified than myself and I was free to exist as I saw fit. For the first time since my mutation had surfaced I felt a huge weight- or, rather, _the_ huge weight- had been lifted from my shoulders and god help me if I didn't feel like brand spankin' new. I thanked him profusely for the next half a minute, babbling my appreciation out so incoherently he must have thought I was on the verge of a psychotic episode and stopped me.

"Easy there, Adrian, settle down now. Yer mother an' I will be flyin' out t' see ye on Friday, can ye keep hold o' yerself 'til then?"

He seemed a bit more relaxed now himself and I obliged him. "Oh course I can, Dad. I'm your daughter, after all, aren't I?"

"'S what makes me bloody worry about ye, lass. Now I'm gonna have one hell o' a phone bill, 'n yer mother's not gonna be too happy about it. We'll see ye at the end o' the week, ye hear? Take care, love, and the blessings o' God upon ye."

I almost rolled my eyes at the notion that I had a cereal box character for a father, but I bade him a fond farewell all the same, asking that he pass my regards along to my mother, who was doubtless still at work. A click at the other end of the receiver a few seconds later signified the end of the conversation and I held the phone a moment longer in my hand before putting it back in it's cradle, my brain still processing the multitude of thoughts and emotions that had been brought up in the last twenty minutes. In retrospect, it seemed almost too short a time to have so dire a conversation, but it had been less than a half an hour since I'd come into the Professor's office, regardless of how puzzling that may have been, and it seemed as though everything had come full circle, the note of completion ringing full and true in the lighted places of my mind. I sensed another body of water behind me and, my spirits having been lifted, turned to address it.

"I assume that the conversation with your father went well?" Professor Xavier's kind eyes twinkled as he smiled at me and I nodded, at a sudden loss for words. I regained my senses a few seconds later and spoke.

"He's letting me stay. He'll be coming to tour the school this upcoming Friday." How strange the words seemed coming from my mouth, as I'd thought them to be an unattainable reality for so long. Silently I praised Mrs. Moore for her boldness and knew that an email to Maggie was in high order this evening after I'd had time to sort everything out. "I can hardly believe it, Professor. I don't even know where to begin, knowing how lucky I am. I mean, everything's not completely settled, the finer workings have yet to be ironed out and I doubt things will ever be peaches and cream, but it's still something, and that's more than I'd ever thought possible."

"You will be amazed at what can happen when you trust to hope, Adrian, and I am glad for you. I will meet with your parents when they arrive so that I might assure them that you are in the best of hands here at this institute."

"Thank you Professor, that would be fantastic. I…" I couldn't even begin to express my gratitude to the man, his stature stretching so much higher than the immaculate gentleman in the wheelchair before me. Unable to speak anymore, I stood and hugged him instead, trusting for my actions to speak louder than the words I'd lost, choked within my own throat. As he patted my back and released me, I heard his voice, comforting and tranquil within my head.

_"Welcome home, my dear pupil. And let it be known that above all, you are accepted."_

I never did make it to lunch that lazy Sunday. I went into the library and checked my email on an available computer, replying to Maggie's belated warning with a brief summary of the conversation that had gone on between my father and I, as well as a synopsis of what had occurred over the last few days at the mansion, including the weird phenomenon that was my relationship with John, and Logan's mystifying and concerning disappearance. Finishing in under an hour I returned to the dormitory, blissfully empty, in order to devote some much needed attentions to my studies, reveling in the time alone to work myself out as I saw fit. I was still a bit out of sorts emotionally as a result of my earlier phone conversation, but it was for the better, of that I was certain. Laying out Piotr's notes for Dr. Grey's class on my desk, I grabbed my CD player and put my headphones on, intent upon copying them so that they could be returned as soon as possible. I was a good quarter of the way through about ten minutes later, but then "The Hand That Feeds" came on and I completely lost myself, forsaking my homework and dancing to the wonder that is Trent Reznor.

Ten minutes after that one would have expected me to be at least half way through my work, considering the pace I'd kept up before, but at that point I was valiantly ignoring the papers upon my desk and the familiar dull ache in my ribs, moving along to the music in my ears, grateful for my good fortune and for good music alike. Closing my eyes and enjoying my peace I sang along with the sounds pouring into my ears.

_"My life,  
You electrify my life.  
Let's conspire to re-ignite,  
All the souls that would die just to feel alive._

_But I'll never let you go  
If you promise not to fade away,  
Never fade away._

_Our hopes and expectations,  
Black holes and rev-"_

"My, my, Mills, you sure are hard at work. All that song and dance will be getting you top marks in Dr. Grey's class for sure." The moment I heard it I ripped the headphones off, nearly tripping over myself as I whirled about with a scowl. I turned the player off, setting it on the desk.

"What the fuck do you want, Allerdyce?"

He looked amused in an almost detached sense, hands casually in his pockets as he surveyed our room before those whirlpool blue eyes of his rested on me. "You can't dance for shit."

"Tell me something I don't know, Prometheus, or get the fuck out. I can't even recall you knocking," I had my hands on my hips in that classic display, exhibiting with my body what my attitude spoke in volumes; thinly veiled hostility. I still hadn't forgiven him for the shit he'd pulled earlier in the afternoon and I wasn't about to sweep it all under the rug due to the lighter mood I'd been favoring before Cocky, Smirking & Co. had come swaggering into my dormitory. I raised an eyebrow, expectant.

"I did knock, but whatever Euro trash you were listening to must have stopped you from hearing it. And we've gone over this ground before, Mills; if you're going with lame nicknames, it's Pyro."

"It could be Pricilla for all I care and I'd still be pissed with you. Now fuck off, I've got work to do." I hadn't budged, and neither had he. I stood my ground as he came towards me, eye contact unwavering.

He stopped a few inches in front of me, enough to invade my personal space but not nearly enough to warrant a step backward. I remained stationary as he spoke. "Yeah, you sure had your nose to the grindstone. What is it, sweetheart? Still upset about earlier? Can't take the heat, Mills? You can dish out all of that opinionated bullshit but you can't back it up-"

"That is not what I'm upset about, you self righteous bastard," I pointed a finger at him and poked him in the chest with it. "What really got me was your untowardly physical behavior. I don't know if you've ever had broken ribs, Allerdyce, but they fucking hurt. And to have you prodding at them just to make some crude point about my assault before I came here is just beyond cruel, it's fucking sick. Friends don't do that to each other, John, and if you're going to be in here longer than the next ten seconds, you'd better be offering me an apology."

We look at one another so hard I almost feel as though I'm trapped in a time-warp back to some time in the mid-1990's, back to that episode of _Pete & Pete_ where the brothers had their infamous staring contest. That's John and I right now, save for the fact that we lack the obvious freckles and the red hair, eyes locked, neither person caving even as he, defiant, opens his mouth to speak, taking another step closer. Were it not for my adamant resolve, my anger at the situation, I surely would have balked.

He takes my finger, still pointing at his chest, takes my hand in his own, and speaks. "I'm sorry for hurting you. You're right, it was pretty low of me and I was a shit for doing it. But Adrian," he squeezes my hand, not enough to hurt, but enough to warrant my attention. I glance downward, obliging. "I'm not sorry about what I said."

Only in a perfect world. "I don't expect you to be, John. Your views are your own and I'm not going to begrudge you that, it'd be unfair of me. I hope there won't ever be a 'next time' for this conversation." The last is a warning, something we can both understand. I've drawn a line and the consequence for over-stepping it is to be shot on sight, because when it comes down to it I really don't like getting screwed with, and I'm not about to allow it to happen lightly. These are terms John can understand and he nods, accepting them. I almost feel as though I've drawn out a social contract of sorts, putting a marker with a "Do Not Pass" sign upon it. It'll tempt him, now that it's plain to the eye, but he'll respect it, and for his own sake, I hope he does. I'm not fond of the idea of enforcing it, but rest assured it'll be something more than his toilet overflowing if he does. I don't have time to put up with this childish bullshit.

"So… we're all right?" The question is asked with a hint of condescendence that is so utterly John I roll my eyes.

"Yeah, sure, we're fine."

"Good, because I really didn't want to have to watch my back every time I went to wash my hands. That mutation of yours is pretty fucking pesky, Mills. I've gotta hand it to you." His thumb is rubbing patterns over the back of my hand and I'm struggling to maintain my concentration on whatever it is he's saying. Sometimes I wonder if he knows the effect he has over me. The answer, whatever it may be, is a terrifying aspect to behold.

"How surprisingly humanitarian and good-willed of you, John. Should we be expecting any unexpected trips to volunteer at the veteran's home as well?" My god, those eyes of his! I have to fight to keep my head above water. Who would have thought that as a hydrokinetic I'd be the one drowning? That it would be me, Adrian Mills, hopelessly lost in all that blue?

"Not quite, Mills, but-"

His words are smothered as I lean forward, kissing him abruptly. After only an instant I'm floundering, but John, that kid was born to hit the ground running, taking the carriage by its proverbial reins and steering it into his own familiar territories. Suddenly it's as though we're back outside again, with the brick siding scraping impatiently against my back; hands roaming, bodies air-tight against one another, and my god, its perfect. More startling is the notion- nay, the undeniable fact- that it is I who made the first move this time. I have cast the first stone be it out of purity or damnation, and I now lead this chaotic mass of limbs and hot, heavy breaths. Rather, it would be disorganized were it not so obscenely wonderful, were it not for the fact that in spite of everything that he did earlier, everything he said, I find myself forgiving him with every kiss, every sigh, every blessed movement of that saintly body of his. Adamant resolve my ass, I don't know how I managed to convince myself that everything this boy did failed to turn me into human putty, but I was totally full of shit. We pull apart briefly and I open my eyes, surprised when I can barely see him before me.

My dorm room is filled with fog. Thick, dense pea soup fog. This is the stuff you would see people eat slices of in old _Scooby Doo_ episodes, it's so substantial. "John…?"

I can hear him laughing; still feel his hands at my waist. If I squint really hard, I can even see his face grinning in front of me. I wish it weren't so steamy in here, that I might be able to view it more clearly, because right now I'm under the startling opinion that even Renoir's most beloved paintings were nothing near this awe-inspiring. Suddenly I want to sing him Radiohead's 'High and Dry' and beg him never to leave my side, because in the few years I've been alive on this earth, nothing has ever made me feel this indescribably enraptured. But now is not the time for such fanciful things and I know it, together we disengage and go to open the windows, letting the heavy air pour out into the sunshine.

Several minutes later and we're still standing there, the room clear and silent, listening to the birds outside my window. We're close enough to touch but I can't seem to make myself move, I can't break the spell the hazy air wrought within me and I feel almost doomed by the severity of it. A moment later I blink and he's gone, walking to the door.

"Where are you going?" There's an almost desperate tone to my voice and I wonder where it's come from, how it came to be. I'm embarrassed by it, the notion that he might have heard it too dire to consider under the circumstances, the knowledge of our tentative friendship still omnipresent in my mind. Yet he stops and turns toward me, heeding my words.

"You've got some work you were doing, I interrupted you." It's a simple explanation, an honest one that fits, but it still doesn't stop me from wishing he'd stay. I clamp down on the sensation, burying it.

"All right, I'll see you at supper, then." I can be nonchalant too, apparently, and he nods, turning the handle and opening the door. I face the window again, pondering the rapid beats of my heart with some apprehension as I entertain the notion of just how much he may have grown on me. The evidence is damning and I scowl out at the clear blue sky.

"Oh, and Mills?" I turn, startled, unaware of his continued presence. "The next time you're going to dance around like that, at least make it worth my while and do it in your underwear."

With that trademark smirk and a mischievous wink the door shuts and I'm left there, gaping in wide eyed indignation. The nerve of him! Only he could be so tactless, after a moment like that, he goes and spoils it by-

I resist the urge to chase after him and cause him bodily harm against my better judgment, seating myself at my desk again and resuming my work, sans music. With a flourish of determination I finish in record time and gather the borrowed papers, intent upon returning them to Piotr and not under any circumstances thinking about the louse known as St. John Allerdyce.

Some things are easier said than done.

It's not been more than an hour yet and already my thoughts have wavered a little past what many would consider good and pure. I sigh, shaking my head as I go down the hallway to the other wing reserved for the dormitories of the resident boy folk. Reaching a somewhat familiar door, I raise a hand and knock gently upon the hardwood. With any luck, I'll catch the Jolly Russian Giant in some state of unabashed undress and have a coronary. Perving aside, though, I wait dutifully after I receive a response, notes in hand, humming to myself. The door opens a moment later and I have to hide my disappointment at the amount of clothing worn by my friend, because honestly, any young man with a body like that should be in as little as possibly as often as possible, to quote my darling Kitty Pryde. He smiles softly as I return the notes to him, thanking him for his kindness.

"You are welcome, Adrian. Is everything all right? You look pensive." That artist's eye again, so damnably perceptive and discerning. I laugh a little more than necessary and pick at the hem of my shirt.

"Of course, Piotr! Everything is absolutely, positively, without a doubt fantastic! Sunshine, rainbows and kittens. Perfect. Why?"

"Nothing particularly. Although I did pass by your room with Jubilee and Kitty earlier in the afternoon and I saw something quite strange. Do you happen to own one of those fog machines?" I've never once in my life seen my beloved Michelangelo sculpture smirk, but I can say with the utmost sincerity that I almost melted into a puddle of goo and drained through the floorboards right then and there before the magnitude of what he'd said hit me.

"You… you and Kitty, and JUBILEE!? Oh fuck! Where is she?" The gossip hound had no doubt put two and two together in the most incriminating fashion possible and I shudder to think what the rest of the school now has running through their minds concerning my private affairs.

"The last I saw her she was sitting with Bobby and Rogue outside. They appeared to be having a rather interesting conversation," he went over to his desk, putting his papers upon the surface.

"Thanks Piotr, I'll see you later," I shut the door and bolted down the hall, various scenarios running through my mind in the most unseemly manner. So this was what it was like living at a boarding school, having everyone else know everything about you, sifting through your dirty laundry, god it was insane! And I had thought normal high school was a drag, oh naivety. Leaping down the stairs and ignoring the slight, jarring pains to my ribs, I sped outside as normally as possible, avoiding running headlong into Professor Munroe only by her own grace, giving her a sheepish grin as I raced outside toward the giggling trio seated on a nearby bench.

"It- er, it wasn't what you guys think. Honestly," I babbled, earning a few looks from them before they burst into laughter. Quite beyond embarrassed, I stood there, hands stuffed into my pockets until Rogue managed to regain her composure.

"Oh Adrian, ya' poor thing. We know it wasn't, it's just, well-"

"The fog," Bobby grinned.

"You guys really get steamy when the temperatures rise, huh?" Jubilee snickered and I put my hands over my face.

"Goddamnit. It's, I just-"

"Oh, chica, that's not all you. Trust me. Your little fire-starter there has just as much to do with it as you do. You see, despite what many might think we three have quite a firm grasp on what it is to have powers and be romantically involved with others. The last guy I had nearly wet himself when I accidentally set the fireworks off one afternoon, it was priceless."

"Yeah. I accidentally turned into ice one time when Rogue kissed me and her tongue got stuck to me for the better part of fifteen minutes. Good to know your control is better," he grinned at her, and she laughed.

Jubilee looked like the Cheshire cat at this point. "I actually have photographic evidence of that one too. I put it on all my Christmas cards."

"Jubes! Those'd better be th' ones ya' gave to Piotr, Kitty 'n John, 'cause if anyone else has 'em yer in a whole world o' trouble."

"But of course, my darling Southern Belle! You needn't fear, no one else saw them. I think. Anyway, it's totally cool, I mean, it completely cemented the fact that the both of you are in a long-standing and loving relationship, and that you're both very much in, er, icy love with one another."

"'Icy love'? Jubes, just what in th' hell is that s'possed to mean?" Rogue looked at her friend, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

The other girl giggled nervously. "Well, you see-"

Before Jubilee could finish digging herself out of her calamity, though, we were startled into a sudden and abrupt silence. Bobby grabbed his head, as if struck by something and Jubilee was temporarily hushed by the magnitude of what was occurring.

_"Students! Please return to your dormitories at once! This is not a drill and it is of the utmost importance that you do so presently."_

Professor Xavier's telepathy sounded like a megaphone ringing in my skull, I'd never heard him "speak" so loudly before. There was an urgency in his voice that shocked me, and in the pit of my stomach I feared the worst, a creeping dread making its way up my spine. Shaking my head to clear my senses I made eye contact with Rogue and swallowed loudly, the look in her eyes spoke in volumes; something like this had never happened before. Pushing the nervous tension that threatened to overcome me down into the back of my mind, I took Jubilee's hand and raced towards the door.

"We have to make sure the younger students get inside!" Bobby called, halting the lot of us by the entrance. I nodded. Such is the responsibility of age.

"Don't worry about it, I'll make sure there's no one left." Concentrating I sought out other bodies of water, closing in on those few within human vessels. A group of children playing tag quickly raced by and I felt nothing anymore, save for my friends beside me. But off around the other side of the house, there was something there, something faint, virtually intangible and I was almost positive it wasn't a student. I shook it off. "Everyone's gone in, let's go."

Jubilee shut the door and bolted it behind us before we began our race through the empty halls towards the dormitories. We passed Dr. Grey and Professor Summers, both hurrying by as fast as they could allow towards the door and the world beyond, grim determination painted upon their features. Even without seeing Summers' eyes the hard set of his jaw relayed his thoughts quite convincingly and I pitied whatever fool thought to block him. We continued on our way, separating only at the juncture between living quarters.

"Is he going to be okay?" I asked Rogue after Bobby sped off to his room, eyeing him with some concern. She nodded, urging me forward.

"'Course he is, now get inside before we get into trouble!" When we reached the door to our room Kitty threw it open, ushering us inside before closing it and repeating Jubilee's previous actions. I looked to the window, the sunshine of the day momentarily betraying the dire situation at the school. I imagined it would change as soon as anything drastic happened, Professor Munroe would see to that, but it was something I hoped wouldn't be necessary. Perhaps the Professor had merely been testing us, maybe there was nothing to be worried about after all.

"Did you guys see anything outside? What's going on?" The Midwestern girl looked almost frightened, the present lack of information alarming her just as greatly as it did the rest of us.

"Yer answer's as good as ours," Rogue shook her head. "We were just sittin' outside when-"

"There was something else out there," I blurted in belated realization. "Around the other side of the mansion. It was human, I think, or humanoid. Whatever it was though, its water signature was really weak."

Jubilee looked confused. "What do you mean, 'water signature'? Weak?"

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "I don't really know how to explain this properly. Everyone has water within their body, meaning that I can usually sense their presence as a result of it. Like right now, I can feel the three of you, almost as though you're a river or a stream, it's sort of hard to convey. Regardless, when I checked for students outside earlier I felt something, or someone, on the other side of the campus. It was almost as though… I've never felt it before, but the water within them was so reduced they might have been close to death."

Rogue looked up at me, horrified. "Lo-"

"I'm going to check it out," Kitty spoke resolutely, running to the door.

"Wait! Kitty, what are you doing? It's not safe!" Jubilee reached for her friend, hand phasing through the other girl as she ran through the wood in our door and out into the hall. "Shit, that girl is going to be in so much trouble when the Professor finds out. I mean, the guy's the world's best telepath and we're under lock-down, she's so busted."

There was a minute or so of tense silence before anyone spoke again. "Ah have th' awful feelin' that it's not Kitty we outta be worryin' about," Rogue's voice was low as she stood by the window, biting her lip nervously.

My gaze upon the door snapped over to her, a sort of dawning comprehension coming upon me. "What do you mean?"

"Ah mean that-"

Rogue stopped and I almost choked when I saw Kitty reappear through the solid mass of the door. Truly, it would take quite a long time before I got used to seeing such a feat. Jubilee, ever inquisitive, grabbed her arm.

"Kitty, what's going on? What did you see, chica?"

Kitty looked up at us, her face whiter than any sheet, eyes the size of horrified tea saucers. "Oh my god. You guys, it's horrible, it's so horrible-"

"Kitty, spit it out, what'd ya' see?" Rogue stood before her roommate, the pinnacle of composure as I fought to keep myself breathing evenly.

She shut her eyes tightly, warding off whatever images her psyche forced upon her in cruel recollection. It was so quiet in the room I could hear the morning doves out on a telephone wire somewhere outside, their mournful calls coming so clear I might have thought they were on my shoulder. "It's… its Professor Logan."

"What do you mean? What happened to him?" Jubilee put an arm around her. I wanted to throw up.

The other girl shook her head violently. "I can't, it was-"

"Katherine Pryde, ya' took the risk o' goin' out there, now tell us what ya' saw!" Rogue's voice rose, the forceful nature of her attitude snapping Kitty's head up.

"He… he, oh my god, Rogue, they had him up on a _cross."_

I froze. "He was crucified?" Her response seemed muffled, the affirmative answer swallowed up by the loud, buzzing sound emanating from the back of my mind. Logan, the Wolverine, my Knight in Denim Armor, my invincible protector; it had been him that I'd felt dying out there while we'd all scurried inside at the Professor's behest. The man with an skeleton covered in the most powerful metal on earth, with a healing factor so extreme his own age was indiscernible, and his assailants had very nearly killed him. Logan, the man who had protected me and smuggled me out of my desperate situation in Los Angeles, suffering through my immaturity and bringing me to the only place I could better myself. When he'd been outside in his hour of need I'd done nothing to aid him. It was unforgivable.

"Adrian! Hey, snap outta it!" Rogue's gloved hands shook my shoulders lightly and my attention veered back into the present, out of my introspection.

"What? Oh, shit." Water was seeping into the room from the lavatory, spilling out of the bathtub in bucket-loads. I stopped the liquid quickly enough with my mind, forcing it back into the pipes and down the drain, off of the hardwood floors and glossy tiles. When everything was dry I turned back to them. "I'm sorry. I sort of, I just- shit, I don't know how to deal with this."

"That makes about all of us," Jubilee slumped down on the edge of her bed. "Who the hell can take out the Wolverine anyway? He's one of the most dangerous people out there!"

"The most dangerous, actually, according to government sources," Kitty interjected. "Look, regardless of whatever happens, we can't let this get to us, we can't let this break this apart and tear us down because that's exactly what the people who did this are looking for. They expect us to crumble."

"Yer right, they were lookin' to make 'n example an' that's exactly what they did. Make no mistake, the Professor'll tell everyone about this at dinner, but he's also gonna tell us to stick together, an' that's what we hafta do. For a lotta us it's all we've got."

I looked up at Rogue. "Do you think he'll be all right? You don't think they-" I couldn't continue. The very thought of anything having happened to that man felt like a knife in my chest, an ache worse than anything my ribs could conjure up. It was like Maggie all over again, and it was eating me alive.

She shook her head. "He'll be fine, o' that Ah'm sure. A buncha racists an' religious fanatics couldn't take Logan out if they had the entire United States Army backin' 'em."

Jubilee frowned. "So how'd they manage to get him to play everyone's favorite martyr so easily?"

"He's smart, 'n he's definitely good at what he does, but even Logan can get taken by surprise. Trust me, Ah'd know from experience," she fingered a white lock of hair with a wry expression.

"Apparently these sick fucks wanted to be sure that we know God hates mutants, in the tackiest way possible. Fantastic." I shook my head, trying not to betray the small terror that was growing within me. I had to see him, had to make sure that he was all right. After all that he'd done for me I hadn't even noticed that it had been him out there, I didn't even sense the water in the people who had put him there, the damnable hands of those so unworthy as to touch him, to maim a man they couldn't hope to hold a candle to in comparison. Maggie, my god, it really was like Maggie all over again. It took me everything I had not to explode the sink. Shaking my head in disgust, I spoke, sarcasm dripping from my words. "These jackasses are really cryptic, they're something right out of a _Law & Order_ episode with all this symbolism. They really must fancy themselves to be a bunch of wiseasses, pulling a stunt like that, that's for sure. God help me if I ever get my hands on them."

Rogue sighed, sounding weary enough to gain my attention, managing to partially snap me out of my violent state. "Trust me, sugah, yer not alone. There'll be a time to give 'em hell, but it's not now."

Silence settled over the room as we all resigned ourselves to the fate of waiting, our patience stretched thin as we entertained our own thoughts. Kitty and Jubilee sat beside one another on the latter's bed, being far more social creatures they felt the need to draw comfort from the presence of one another after the devastating news of their teacher's assault. Rogue and I, on the other hand, kept to ourselves, nothing communicated save for the occasional knowing glace, the understanding that this was tearing the both of us to pieces inside. He meant a great deal to us, more so than a lot of other people in the world, and I'd imagine that she shared my feeling of fury, frustration and wrath over the helplessness of the situation.

Ultimately nothing either of us could ever do would avenge our friend and protector, and now that I'd had the benefit of a few minutes quite to cool off, I could see that. Violence would only reaffirm the twisted and maligned beliefs these people had and it was only through tolerance and understanding that anything could really be achieved. Of course, such deeds are far easier said than done, but I suppose that's why Logan fought on the side of Charles Xavier; the man with seemingly inexhaustible funds also had infinite hope in a peaceful coexistence between human and mutant kind. During times like these, though, I found it easier to side with John's more radical and counteractive views, my very blood calling out for vengeance against those who had harmed one of our own.

Realization struck me a moment later and I chuckled dryly despite myself. The mention of John made me recall the last few hours or so before, his distractions and cocky smirk, the banter he played along with so fantastically. I'd told myself I wouldn't think of him under any circumstances due to his smug behavior and apparently I'd done a notable job until the present. I hadn't even thought to check on him when the lock-down had been ordered. I almost felt bad about it, but the knowledge that he'd probably not given me a second thought since the whole wretched ordeal began stopped me quite effectively.

This day couldn't have gotten any worse if God himself shat upon it. How on earth was I supposed to convince my parents that this school was a safe place for me when one of the teachers was found crucified and near death on the fucking front lawn like a damn gazing ball less than a week before their scheduled arrival? The entire thing was one whiney emo song away from being completely irreparable, and I was thankful that no one had thought to leave any Dashboard Confessional playing in the background.

"So, they've made their first move, what's ours?" It was Jubilee who broke the silence, looking to each of us in turn. "I mean, yeah, we're kids, we can't really do anything, but if they can target this school outright-"

"I don't doubt that the Professor and the rest of the teachers are already discussing this, or that they have discussed it many times in the past, Jubes. If they haven't already got a plan, they'll have a damn good one ready and waiting within the hour." Kitty smiled, softly, a brave face in the fading light coming in through the window. "Right now we wait a little longer, and then, when we're told it's all safe, we go downstairs to dinner."

"Sounds like an awesome plan to me, I'm starving." Jubilee became a yellow blur in the corner of my eye as she rubbed her stomach. "I'm too skinny for this, I need food."

"Shut it Jubes, there are people who would kill for your metabolism and you know it," Kitty nudged her friend jokingly.

I nodded, though goodness knows my mind couldn't have been farther away from food at the moment if one put it in a space shuttle and carted it off to Venus. Christ, what a mess. If this were any less severe I would have called it a made-for-TV _Lifetime _special. But Logan, god, I had to get out of this room before I went bat shit. I was losing my mind, wallowing in all of it. I needed a drink, a good, swift slap in the face, something, _anything,_ and it had to be fast. For this I thank God for Professor Charles Xavier.

_"You may all go about business as usual, though you are all to remain indoors for the duration of the evening or until instructed otherwise. Thank you for your cooperation."_

Just like that, a mental telegram was sent to the cerebral cortex of every student in the institute, a Get Out of Jail Free Card to the anxiety of lingering in our stuffy rooms and scared, shaky breaths. I closed my eyes for a moment before I stood, centering myself. The last thing I needed to do was break the routine and make an ass out of myself by accidentally creating a lake on the dinner table. With a false sense of strength, I gave a grin to my roommates and held open the door, allowing us a gateway into the now crowded dormitory halls. Rogue was the last to exit, and as she did, she held my gaze for a moment before giving me a nod. I returned her gesture, recognizing it for what I knew it surely stood for; we were Logan's Girls, Rogue and I, and in time, whoever did this to him would have us to answer to. The very idea of it gave me a sense of satisfaction, and I closed the door, following them downstairs with a look of grim determination upon my countenance. Here at Mutant High, we look after our own.

Piotr, Bobby and John joined us at our usual spot amidst the uneasy tittering of the rest of the school, students whispering and sharing their theories. Dr. Grey was absent, as was the Professor, but the rest of the teachers sat at their table with a composure that might have had us all fooled, save for the stiff set of their shoulders and the uncompromising body language they kept around themselves. For the most part we ate in silence, Jubilee and Bobby keeping up the appearance of a normal Sunday evening at the mansion. It was my first and needless to say I found it anything but, and to top it off there was no way I could go dashing up to the professor's table and demand to see my friend right now. I'd have to wait it out, until after dinner, at the very least, and hope to God I could manage to come across well enough to earn their permission. The bureaucracy itself was enough to drive me mad, so much so that I barely registered John, sullenly flicking his lighter to my right. I must have stared at my mashed potatoes a good five minutes before I even realized anyone was talking to me.

"Are you all right?" Piotr, the observant demigod. Though, truth be told, even Ray Charles could have seen how fucking ridiculously introverted I was at the moment. I took a breath and moved my potatoes around on my plate.

"Yeah, fine. Just spaced out."

He looked at me a while longer, I didn't even bother with a half-assed veneer of disinterest with someone as astute as Piotr, it would only have sufficed to insult him. Bobby had an arm around Rogue and I was almost jealous of their closeness in such an instance. Any sort of physical reassurance from anyone at this point would have been more than welcome, but John kept his distance and I made no move to seek it from him. Stalemate. I wasn't even really entitled to it; it's not as if we're even an item, for fuck's sake. I think. Christ, if he really cared, he'd have done something right now that didn't involve flicking the lid of that stupid Zippo on and off. I wanted to slap him.

I spared a side-glance to the adult's table again only to see Professor Summers making his way to the door. Without a word I picked up my tray and followed him, setting my table settings in their allotted places and walking swiftly down the corridor after him. Now was not the time for pleasantries, not when my stomach was in so many intricate knots I could have made pretzel factories envious in their abundance. I bite back my reservations and call out to him.

"Professor Summers?"

He turns, though I get the sensation that he's known I've been after him since he left his table. Expression indiscernible from behind rose-colored glasses, he greets me in his almost militaristic manner. "Adrian, can I help you?"

Of all the teachers I had to get alone out here, it had to be him. I bite the bullet and open my mouth, hoping I don't accidentally swallow my own tongue in the process. "I need to see Logan. Sir. Please."

Whether he takes into account just how hopelessly awkward my words are, he regards my request for a moment in silence for a moment before responding. He doesn't even question my knowledge, though it flickers across his face for the briefest of instances. "Now really isn't the best time, Adrian."

I take a step toward him, awkward stature gone as the desperation of my situation begins to sink in. "Please, Professor, I don't want to get in the way, I'm not going to make a fuss, I just- I really need to see him, to make sure he's all right. Please."

His words take on a much kinder tone than the one I'm so used to hearing bark out names in the beginning of his lectures. For a moment I feel a brief stab of fear, and he sighs. "I really shouldn't take you down there, as a teacher it would be highly irresponsible of me." He pauses and I feel my stomach begin it's decent towards the soles of my feet, stopping in an abrupt and jarring fashion as he continues. "But as someone who understands the concern of a friend, you can follow me."

I blink, clearly taken aback. I open my mouth to speak and, unsure of what to say, close it quickly, looking up into the red lenses of his glasses. I'm almost sure I can see the outline of his eyes when I incline my head to him in respect, giving him a quiet, humbled word of thanks. He nods back and without another word we make our way to the elevator.

It's a slow, silent ride down in the surprisingly spacious compartment and my stomach protests the slight gravitational strain and confusion. I can feel adrenaline starting to course through my veins, my eyes wide and awake even after the whirlwind day I've experienced thus far, and I want to be sure that my teacher knows he hasn't made a mistake bringing me down here. I never thought I'd see the day, but Professor Scott "I have the Empire State Building half way up my rectum" Summers has just stuck his neck out for me. It would have been so simple for him to tell me to fuck off until the morning, to go haggle with the Professor to see if it was even a wise choice to allow me to visit Logan only a scant few hours after he'd been brought in, but out of the goodness of his heart he's allowed me this one consolation, and I can't even begin to form words expressing just how grateful I am. Under all that ruby quartz and stoicism, Scott Summers really is human after all, more so perhaps than even he would like to believe. It's interesting food for thought and I know better than to underestimate him again.

The doors open and we walk down the hall, footsteps echoing in the sterile expanse of the corridor. I have to fight the urge to break out into a run towards the direction of the hospital wing as I match my professor's long strides to the opposite end of the hall, making a quick left at the second to last door. We pause a moment before entering and I take a breath, mentally preparing myself for whatever horrors I'm about to witness. Less than a second later, Professor Summers opens the door, and we walk in, hearing it close behind us. We walked past the room I'd occupied during my brief stay post-melt-down and toward the more critical area of the medical bay. Despite myself I could barely hear the sounds of the various machines we passed, my heart hammered so loudly I thought for certain that Professor Summers must have heard it and presumed me a coward. His expression remained, though, just as it had on the way down here, and I shook my head, clearing it of my own silly notions; there were far more important things to worry about now, my own dignity notwithstanding.

And then suddenly we were there, standing over his bed, and I brought a hand up to stifle the gasp that escaped my lips. My Knight lay unmoving, vanquished upon the hospital bed, an array of tubes and sensors stuck haphazardly upon his body. Stripped of his Denim Armor, of the attitude he bore upon himself like a helm of valor, he looked almost peaceful, or might have were he not so pale. I sensed the I.V. dripping into him as my eyes roamed his body, taking in the bruises, the cuts and gashes covering him from head to toe, scarlet splashes staining the pure snowy white of gauze and bandage. His breathing was soft, gentle, almost child-like and so very different from the sure and steady breaths I'd so often heard him draw back in the seat of his pick-up. Tentatively I reached forward, lifting one of his mighty hands in both of my own, trying to mimic what he'd done for me those few days ago, faltering when I felt the scab on his palm. Looking down to see the matching red sphere on the other side, that clear point where the nail had gone through, I almost choked.

"Why haven't his wounds healed?" It felt like I'd spoken out of turn during a church service, as though by voicing my question I'd disrupted some holy vigil there in the bowels of Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters and I winced at how loud I sounded to myself amidst the dead silence of the room. Professor Summers answered me a moment later.

"He was nearly beaten to death. As a result, it's taking his system a bit longer to cope with it. Jean- excuse me, Dr. Grey is running some tests to see if they injected him with anything to slow the process down." Leave it to the cowardly religious fanatics to poison the man, the worthless bastards. I tightened my grip on his hand, clenching my teeth. I wanted to know everything. What had his mission been? Who had attacked him? What were their names? Addresses? Places of business? Who were their families? Who had raised them with such reckless hatred toward their fellow man?

I leaned over him, gently moving a stray lock of that wild hair of his back into its usual place off his forehead. I was momentarily surprised just how soft it was, not at all wiry like I'd expected it to be, and I smiled softly down at his unconscious form. He was worth more to me than all the seas of the world, more than every drop of water I could feel like a soft hum in the back of my mind. I startled, hearing something move and my eyes snapped up to a pair of ruby-quartz glasses.

"You can stay here for a while, if you'd like. If Jean needs her space to work on him, she'll let you know."

Its official, Scott "I have a football with spikes on it lodged in my lower intestine" Summers is my hero. For all the shit I give him, the man really cleans up well. I make a mental note to replace his bottle of _Maker's Mark_ in full.

"Thank you, Professor. I- it really means a lot to me." My eloquence seems to have run off and left me here to flounder awkwardly under my teacher's stern gaze, but even so I can't help but feel slightly ashamed at his kindness. Suffice to say that I definitely owed him. Big time. Pulling shit like this was totally off the books and I knew it. On some level I almost expected him to gloat over it, but instead he gave me what might have passed for a small smile, put his hand on my shoulder but a moment, and exited the room. It was by far one of the most pleasantly surreal experiences of my life. I was almost so happily weirded out that I half-expected Professor Xavier to come back-flipping in through the door with a giant mullet and hot pants. Needless to say, I was quite relieved when the latter failed to occur, and went about the business of getting a chair to sit in, pulling it up beside the bed and taking his hand in mine yet again.

It seemed fitting sitting there, watching over him as he doubtlessly had me. I almost felt as if I had a right to be there, as if my presence in the room was justified by something stronger than a normal sort of acquaintance. Logan means much more to me than that, I doubted I could even voice the full extent of my feelings for him they were so garbled. And yet the intensity of it reigned on, the overwhelming sense that I'd always be there for him, at whatever cost. Goodness knows that he's done more than that for me. I haven't met too many folks who can brag that they have a Canadian Knight who took a stomach full of lead for them in the recent past. But it wasn't just that either, it was all the little things he'd done since I'd met him; those things had really sealed it for me. For god's sake, the man had helped me bandage my fucking ribs. If that wasn't the single most awkward thing he could have ever put himself through for my sake, short of me screeching at him to run out at eleven o'clock at night to and buy me tampons, I can't even begin to conceive what is. He's the most honorable man I've ever met, and I'll stick by him to the bitter end if need be.

That in itself was quite a crucial realization for me, and I spent more time than I had any right to pondering its consequences and the actual weight of its meaning. Truth be told, I spent so goddamn long running it all over in my head that I must have fallen asleep, my upper body leaning against the hospital bed, his hand pressed firm against my cheek. I dreamed we were in the truck again, driving through the plains of the Midwest with nothing around us but corn, the stalks stretching out for miles into the sky, the road bearing onward, unending before us. We'd sailed through for hours with nothing but the wind in our hair and an old country station that held bleak promises of Hank Williams Jr. whenever it cared to fade in through the static. It was hours and hours of nothing but silence, one of the few times I hadn't minded it, when I'd become truly comfortable just being with him in that piece of shit truck he drove. He started talking about something; I thought it was Marlboros, because he was going on about something Red. I looked over at him, all different kinds of inquisitive, because really, when the hell did Logan ever smoke anything other than cigars? I shook my head and looked out the window again, marveling at how quickly the landscape had changed to forest. Toto and I had passed Kansas and we were going eighty miles per hour straight on our way to the Promised Land. I heard a woman's chuckle over the radio station and then he coughed. Fucking a', the day that man catches a cold we're all screwed. There are just some things that Nyquil can't cure, and he seems to sense it, reaching across the cab and putting a hand on my shoulder, shaking me gently.

"Mills. Hey, kid, wake up."

I snapped into awareness instantly, sitting up so fast my ribs stung in protest. Sucking in a quick hiss of air I looked around quickly, then back down to the hand I'd been holding. I followed it up the length of his arm, eyes tracing to where it attached at his shoulder and then up to his face, my heart leaping into my throat when I noticed his conscious state.

"Logan?"

Leave it to me to say something confident and interesting after another person's near-death experience. He gives me a half grin and I look down at his hand again, marveling at the loss of its previous puncture wound. "I'm right here, kid. It's all right, I'm not goin' anywhere for a while."

It was like something out of a fucking Lifetime movie. All of a sudden there he was, alert and virtually undamaged before my waking eyes, it was the fucking resurrection, the phoenix bursting forth out of the ashes, the continue option at the end of the arcade game of life that no one ever seemed to have the tokens for. But Logan, him and his goddamn chops, he hadn't cashed his chips in yet and I couldn't have been happier. I was do happy, in fact, that I couldn't say another word. I grinned at him like I was the biggest fucking idiot he'd ever met before I promptly burst into tears, gripping his hand like it was some sort of sacred relic, bawling my black little heart out.

"Kid? Mills, Adrian, take it easy, it's all right."

After a while he gave up trying to talk to me, I was past any sort of verbal communication for the next half hour. I'm pretty sure I embarrassed the living hell out of him, but part of me knew that he appreciated it, that someone cared about him this much. He just sat up and held me for a bit, allowing me to convey what I found impossible to speak to him, the gnawing anxiety at his disappearance, the mounting tension, the horror I'd felt at learning of his crucifixion, the guilt I bore like a knife in my heart at not having noticed him there sooner. I sniffled and sobbed until I could sniffle and sob no more, and not once did he let me go, holding me securely until the shudders finally stopped wracking my body and I could breathe normally again.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you, I'm sorry I didn't feel you out there," I said, my words muffled in his chest. I heard him sigh, I could feel him shake his head.

"Kid, you've gotta take it easy, there was no way you could've known that I was out there in the state I was in. Hell, it was a crapshoot the Professor even sensed me. Stop beatin' yourself up about it, all right? You did good keepin' me company down here."

"You weren't very careful, you know." I give him a half-hearted accusatory look, smiling a little despite myself. He chuckles and I can feel the rumble echo through me.

"I told you I'd try my best, Kid. How the hell'd you get down here, anyway?"

"Professor Summers," I answered dutifully, starting to feel a little guilty about having cried all over patient who had quite literally just gotten out of critical condition. I am such a fucking glorious model citizen.

"Scooter? Well I'll be damned, he is getting soft," My Knight let out a bark of laughter, a sound I knew so well I could have mimicked it, given the chance. After another moment he loosened his hold on me and I sat up, wiping my eyes.

"I should probably go. Rogue will want to know how you're doing, and I'm sure you've got some actual recovering to do that doesn't involve me turning into some total psychopath, carrying on like some silly girl around you. I'll see you tomorrow?"

He nodded, favoring me with another small smile. "You can count on it, kid. I'll see you later." He gave my hand one last squeeze and I departed, footsteps retracing themselves to the elevator in a drunken sort of haze, my body drained after my recent outpouring of emotions. Christ, being a teenager- even a _mutant_ teenager- had to be easier than this. I felt like some pathetic primetime mope-soap fest straight out of anywhere but the OC. But Logan was alive with regenerative capabilities intact, and that was all that really mattered. God only knows what I'd have done if he'd- that doesn't matter now. He's safe, he's awake, hell, he'll probably be kicking ass and taking names again tomorrow in the self-defense class. The man is a legend, and he's damn good at what he does, even if half of that is just growing back various pieces of tissue or appendages.

I sighed, approaching the door to the lift and pressing the button to summon it. I stood there, waiting, feeling weariness settle itself into my bones, burrowing within my marrow, settling between my joints. What a fucking day in the life of Adrian Mills. What a fucking classic example of upheaval and chaos at it's fucking finest. At this point, when all had been said and done, I wasn't sure whether to laugh or throw up. The elevator door opened and I stepped inside, pressing the button to take me back up to the realm of my peers, sighing heavily against the plastic siding. My name is Adrian Mills and I'm a teenage mutant runaway in desperate need of a cigarette and a nice, long shower. Because really, when you've got that much stacked against you, it's the simple things in life that make a difference. I think of Logan again and feel the lift stop, the door opening before me. Running a hand over my face, I step out of the smaller chamber and into the deserted hall, making my way toward the staircase, my shoes echoing well on and into eternity.  
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Lyrics from Muse's 'Starlight'.

Constructive criticism and thoughts are greatly appriciated. Thanks for reading!


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